Joker 2: Gotham's Red Knight
by EthanFlux
Summary: My interpretation of The Joker's Origins. Escaping into the real world, itself a prison of construct, a boy is found by The Red Hood Gang. When not even The Joker's past is enough to tell his origins, how many lives did he affect or other affect him?
1. Inauguration

Joker

Story Two: Gotham's Red Knight

Chapter One: Inauguration

**Happy tales too you, dear reader! This is Story Two in my Joker Origins series. If you haven't read Story One, then I suggest you do so before moving on. It has been too long a break but luckily, I have completed a large chunk of my novel so now I can return to doing what I love to do most: keeping you entertained.**

'**Gotham's Red Knight' is very different to 'Start of a Joke' as you will soon discover. We're moving into completely uncharted territory here and let me tell you, this was very difficult to write. New characters, new settings mixed with classic themes and references, I hope you enjoy the little details as much as I have adding them in. Feel free to review or PM you opinion on the story, but above all, enjoy!**

**Side Note: Thank you very much MintierBadger, Keywee and Nina Feliz for your great support and reviews! I hope you both enjoy this story as much as (or more than) the first!**

* * *

Large cloudy white lights slowly hovered around him. They disappeared and reappeared around the corners of his eyes. Echoing sounds could be heard in the distance but he was so tired, so very tired, that he couldn't make any of them out. A gentle clatter above him, the soft rumble underneath, a mixture of warmth and chill on his skin. It was all so puzzling to this boy. He was about to ignore it all and close his eyes when the pain throbbed in his head, waking him up entirely. All the noises became deafening, the feelings increased in sensation and the lights searing. There was so much movement for such a small car. The outside whizzed by in a flurry of headlights and rain, the random sudden honk of a horn blaring in his ears, making them hurt. The car jumped up and down, jolting along with the imperfections of the road, making him feel sick and dizzy. All too unkindly of the universe, the heat suddenly vanished from his body, plunging him into a shivering fit. "You guys take it easy!" insisted Red, watching the boy lying on his lap. The coats weren't working and the car heater hadn't kicked in yet. "He's pitching a fit."

"I can't drive slower unless you wanna get pulled over." Talked back Zed, having enough trouble as it was keeping a clear view of the road ahead.

"We can get pulled over." Rebutted Trent in the passenger seat. "It's not like we got a dead guy on us anymore."

"We got guns on us, moron! You try to explain to a cop why three guys and an out-cold kid are coming from the docks with a recently fired shooter!" dared Zed. "And when he sees the trunk full o' blood, you think _**that**_ won't tip him off?"

"He was shot in the warehouse."

"Yeah, but we gave him a preview before the premiere to get him in the car. More juice than a tomato."

"You guys shut up!" ordered Red, seeing the boy's discomfort at all the noise. His eyes were swirling in their sockets at all the sharp movement. "Just get us there without mouthing off." He cupped his hand on the boy's cheek and leant in close. "Hey. Focus on me. Look at me." He said quietly. The darting eyes slowed down until they met with Red's. "We're gonna help you out, okay? Are you okay?"

Suddenly, there was a loud crash and, as if time had been taken away, the boy found himself being carried into a small kitchen. It had been transformed into some kind of makeshift surgery room despite the fact that it was clearly falling apart. Red and Trent laid him down on the table. Zed was in the far corner with another man who didn't look so pleased. "What is this?" he asked, astounded by what the others had dragged in. "Are you guys nut?! You brought a kid in here?!" He was shushed aside as a fifth man entered wearing operating gloves and scrubs.

"We found him on the pier just lying there out cold." Said Red. "Anything you can do, Hillocks?" The man with the gloves examined the boy thoroughly with the rest looking on.

"He's suffering from...exposure. Hypothermia, pneumonia, I can't be sure." He guessed.

"What do you mean you can't be sure?"

"I do bullet wounds, Red. I'm not exactly qualified." Hillocks returned to the boy. "We need to change his clothes, dry him off and get him somewhere warm. In the meantime, I'll see if I can treat this gash on his forehead. It'll need some stitch work; be thankful I know that much-"

"Whoa, hold on a second!" shouted the man with Zed. Hillocks started getting prepared while the others turned their attention to the man. "Am I the only one who doesn't like this in the slightest? That you brought a boy into our hideout!"

"Nobody cares about your opinion, Hunt! I call the shots, here!" enforced Red.

"I don't think you've taken into consideration the implications of bringing him here!" fought back the man called Hunt. "You don't know a thing about the kid; he could have a family that will send the cops looking for him! He could escape and talk about how he was taken to this place to the wrong people! What then? You gonna feel good about yourself for calling the shots _**and**_ the cops down on us?!"

"He's got a point, boss." Agreed Trent. "I'm all for helping the kid, but we shouldn't have brought him here."

"So we attempt surgery in the back of a moving car? Yeah, great plan." Scoffed Zed.

"What else were we supposed to do?" asked Red.

"Dump him at the freaking hosp-" screamed Hunt but Hillocks had just had enough.

"Quiet! All of you!" he roared, silencing everyone else. "Take it outside and settle it. He's here now and I need to work. Your shouting match isn't contributing to his recovery rate so get the hell out." Hunt was about to argue back but Trent held him, leading him out of the kitchen.

Zed was next to leave, muttering; "Insensitive prick." Red followed, pausing for a moment at the door to see the boy one last time. As Red turned away, the boy looked down at his arm where Hillocks was injecting a syringe full of liquid. He tried to sit up but Hillocks softly held him down with the aid of the sedative draining his energy.

"You'll be all right, kid. _When you wa__**ke up, it'll..."**_

* * *

The morning had come so slowly. Only Red seemed unaffected; pacing up and down slowly, only two steps forwards and back. Hunt just watched him, unimpressed and downright disappointed that their leader could be so stupid. Zed, Trent and Barlow were seated around a small table playing cards but very quietly. Hammond, who had arrived with Barlow earlier that morning, was sitting on a stool, reading a newspaper. Only the clock, the occasional flick of a card and the rustle of paper broke the silence in the bar. At least the place wasn't due to open for another three hours, so there would be plenty of time. They were all just waiting for the news about the boy. Some hoping that he will pull through while others...didn't. One man, Hammond, didn't really care. "Hey, look at 'dis." He said, opening up the paper so that the headline was visible to all; **'Tragedy Strikes Gotham'**. "Looks like da Wayne family got wacked. Joe Chill. Ah, some two-bit wallet snatcher tryin' ta make a name for himself. Heh, left the kid alive, though-"

"Shh!" hissed Trent as Hillocks entered the pub, very tired himself. Red changed direction towards him. The others, except for Hunt, stood.

"Well, he'll be okay." Informed Hillocks outright, not in the mood to milk the suspense. "I can't guarantee what condition he'll be in when he wakes up. That was a nasty bump to the head; could be fine, could have memory issues or he could be a vegetable."

"Hopefully the latter." Piped up Hunt.

"_**But**_," continued Hillocks, ignoring Hunt's remark, "he should be physically fine in a couple of days. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I need to get some sleep myself and I hope you don't mind me using the sedative...that is unless any of you have been shot?"

"Yeah, Hillocks. I shot ya girlfriend last night." Jibed Hammond. "Think the cops'll be able to take ballistics offa dis gun right here?" He grabbed his crotch and mockingly squeezed himself. Hillocks rightfully flipped him off with a tired smile.

"Go ahead, you earned it." Said Red, rubbing the back of Hillock's head as he walked towards the stairs. "You guys stay here." He ordered the others as he entered the kitchen. Everyone took their seats again, a little happier than before.

"Thank God he's fine." Said Barlow. "Where did you guys find him again?"

"Lying on the docks." Zed regaled. "Unconscious and out cold."

"Unconscious _**means**_ out cold." Smirked Trent.

"I know what it means!" Zed shook him off. "But the kid was pale as a ghost; looked like he'd taken a nosedive into the harbour, shivering from the cold. Probably would've died if we'd left him there."

"Maybe you should have." Commented Hunt immediately. "It would have been better for us, much less trouble."

"Listen, Hunt, I can see where you're coming from, but you weren't there." Said Trent. "I mean, it was our decision and I for one don't want a kid's life hanging over my conscience, you understand?"

"I hear that." Agreed Barlow. "I mean, when I get up to the pearly gates and God goes over my life and what I've done, I know he isn't gonna forgive me for leaving a kid in the lurch. That's just...inhuman."

"Who say's you're goin' up when you die, Barlow?" joked Hammond, laughing at his own joke while nobody else did. Hunt was still not amused.

"Then at least take him to a hospital." He complained once again. "It would have been simple. He could have a family calling the police for a door to door search right now. Especially after this whole Wayne business, don't you think they'll come down even harder on us when they find out we've kidnapped a child?"

"Hunt, he might be an orphan, have you considered that?" argued Trent. "A street urchin that ran into the wrong crowd. All I know is that no kid, silver, wooden or plastic spoon, goes around wearing those kinds of clothes."

"Probably should've shot you off the pier and saved us the trouble." Muttered Hunt. That straw broke the camel's back; Trent stood up to round on Hunt but, luckily, Barlow and Zed were quick to hold him back.

"Don't bother. He's a wasted punching bag, leave him." Beckoned Barlow. Slowly, and with a little regret, Trent composed himself and sat back down. Hunt half-smiled to himself; these people were idiots. He knew they were needed as the hired muscle, but decision makers they were not. They would see it his way some day. He hoped that Red had lost his senses, so that on the day they understood, they would turn to somebody else to lead.

* * *

He was only aware of his soft breaths as they inhaled and exhaled through his system. The black was a protective cone isolating him from the outside. This truly felt like he was sleeping but self-aware. Slowly, as happens with everyone when they begin to awaken, his strength grew and grew until there was enough to force his lids open, scuffing his eyes as lightly as a feather. A light bulb that hung several feet above was the first thing he saw, its soft glow comforting his eyes. Looking down, he saw a man sitting on a stool by the table, one hand propped up on the table holding his head up, the other dangling from its edge. It took a moment for one of them to acknowledge the other. "Hello." Said Red in a less gruff tone. They boy rolled off the table top and tried to run for the door. Red grabbed his shoulder and, with one firm grip, pulled him away, back towards the table. "No you don't!" He huffed as he lifted the boy and sat him atop the counter, holding him in place until he settled down. Red looked the kid straight in the eyes. "Don't do that." He said, the gruffness returning. He knew he had to tone it down. "What's your name? Can you tell me what it is?" The boy didn't answer. Not a peep. "Look, if you don't tell me, I can't let you leave." Again, no response. "Fine." Red walked towards the door but-

"I..." began the boy, trailing off at the end. When Red turned around he saw the worry in the kid's face. "I don't know." Red nodded, a little annoyed at the answer. At least it was something, so he tried again, kneeling down beside him.

"You have a mummy and daddy?" he asked with his 'friendly' voice. The boy really had to think about this. After a few moments of concentration he finally shook his head. This was a good sign but it just made Red all the more curious. "What happened to you?" This made the kid even more frightened, his eyes widening in the horror of his situation.

"I can't remember." He answered. The boy looked from the floor up into Red's face. He hesitated before slowly crying silently. Red was unsure as to what he should do. He sat there scratching his head while tears dropped onto the floor. Red began to extend his arms, uncertain if this was the right way to go about this but was caught off guard when the kid forced himself into the hug, his sobs a little louder. They were linked together for a few moments in silence. Red was even more irresolute; he didn't know how to proceed in comforting this child.

"That's okay." He said in a low confident tone. "Cry. You'll feel better." Red assumed the best thing to say would be what he himself would want to hear and it was working, just not as fast as he would have liked. This wasn't exactly the best position for a man in his position to be caught in. He had to appear strong in front of everyone. "So you think you're a Romeo, playing a part in a picture show. Well, take the long way home. Take the long way home." He began to sing. The boy looked up into his face; no longer sobbing but sniffling with two wet lines swivelled down his cheeks. "'Cos you're the joke of the neighbourhood, why should you care if you're feeling good? Then take the long way home. Take the long way home." Red hugged the boy, resting his head reassuringly against his chest. "But there are times that you feel you're part of the scenery, all the greenery is comin' down, boy, and then your wife seems to think you're part of the furniture. Oh, it's peculiar; she used to be so nice. When lonely days turn to lonely nights, you take a trip to the city lights and take the long way home. Take the long way home." The boy felt warmer from within. In the haze of lost memories and a scattered past, this man was making it all seem redundant. "You never see what you want to see, forever playing to the gallery. You take the long way home. You take the long way home." Red was getting caught up in all this and he didn't mind. For the first time in a while, the pain began to fade. "And when you're up on the stage, it's so unbelievable. Oh, unforgettable, how they adore you, but then your wife seems to think you're losing your sanity. Oh, the calamity, is there no way out? Oh, yeah!" As they began to sway backwards and forwards to the melody in their minds, a bond was made. Not the strongest bond, but one that is rarely seen today. The bond of a shared hope. Unity is seldom found between strangers, at least the kind worth speaking of, but when one of lifelong value is created it is felt in the heart. It is usually those who never find it who realise they have found it before all others. The boy and the man were well aware of this gift. "Does it feel that your life's become a catastrophe? Oh, it has to be for you to grow, boy." Sang on Red. "When you look through the years and see what you could have been, oh, what you might have been, if you'd had more time. So when your day comes to settle down, who's to blame if you're not around? You take the long way home. Take the long way home. Take the long way home. Take the long way home." The boy found himself pressing his cheek into Red's warm chest, its heat making him feel tired. "Take the long way home. Take the long way home. Take the long way home. Take the long way home." Their sways began do slow, every lean growing gradually smaller and smaller with every word. "Long way home. Long way home. Long way home. Long way home." Red looked down at the boy's face, his eyes closed peacefully, no longer the object of sadness. His own heart soared; what a wonderful feeling to bring a child away from despondency. "Long way home. Long way home. Long way home..." He finished, resting his head atop the boys. Through some unseen link, Red knew that this boy had no family, that there was no one to miss him...but also no one to look out for him. "I know your name. Jack. Your name is Jack."

"Thank you." Breathed Jack. All it took was the security of knowing who he was. Red had given that to him. Red wiped away the streams down Jack's face and led him into the bar. He stood close to Jack, feeling his fingers squeezing into his arm as the men in the room looked up.

"This is Jack." Announced Red. "He's going to stay with us. As such, he must be treated as one of the group, not an outsider. Show him respect and I'll see to it that you have his. Anyone who has a problem with this loses all privileges; their profits, their protection and their place in this ring." What felt like a whole minute of complete silence passed but the cold, hard stares remained the whole time. Until everyone stood and smiled, walking over to greet their new member. They shook his hand and rubbed his hair and knocked his shoulders down a peg. Jack had never had this much attention since...ever. At least, as far as he knew.

"Eh, dis kid don't look so bad." Asserted Hammond.

"Let's just hope his English is better than yours." Teased Zed.

"Zed, upstairs." Ordered Red, nodding to the upper floor.

Zed complied and left the room with; "Nice to meet you, kid." Before disappearing with Red.

"Where are you from, kid?" asked Barlow. Jack shrugged and shook his head. "Oh, well...you ever play poker before?" Again, Jack shook his head.

"Never heard of it." He said.

"Damn Jack, you must've been living under some rock." Marvelled Barlow, directing him over to the table. "You can play with me and Trent. That's Trent, by the way." He said, pointing over Jack's head at Trent who waved. "I'm Barlow. That big lug over there with the newspaper is Hammond."

"Easy!" warned Hammond with a smirk.

"Who's that?" asked Jack, pointing to the dark eyed man in the corner. He didn't seem to blink at all.

"That's the pimple on the city's arse." Trent told Jack mockingly, laughing along with Hammond.

"Hunt!" Interrupted the man in the corner. "My name is Hunt. Welcome to the gang, young Jack. I hope you feel right at home." His voice was icier than the stares.

"Aaaaanyway," diverted Barlow, "how's about I teach you how to play?" He quickly seated Jack, giving Hunt a disappointed glance. Hunt just rolled his eyes and began chewing his nails down. He didn't have to _**like**_ the kid, just so long as he didn't openly treat him badly. As soon as he had control, Jack would be gone like rats at an exterminator convention. The only enemy now was time...and in this time, who would he become to everyone here?

* * *

"Nobody?" checked Red, aghast. He had to make sure what he heard was correct.

"Yep. I've checked through all police records, child care records, medical records, you name it. This kid doesn't even exist; he's just not there." Confirmed Zed as he zipped back through all the files he had hacked into just in case he had gotten it wrong himself. "Your boy must've been dropped by the stalk. Look, he doesn't even have a birth certificate on record."

"What, you think someone deleted his information?"

"_**I**_ think it wasn't even there in the first place. If it had been then there would be some physical evidence that would have eventually been added back into the system. Nothing." Zed lit up a cigarette. "I know you hired me on as an expert on computers, but I doubt that even if I were given direct uninterrupted access, I still wouldn't find him. So, what are you gonna do? At least there might be time to dump him before he knows too much." Zed saw the expression in Red's eyes. He had been in deep thought this whole time and it was clear that he was strongly and personally considering keeping Jack. "Look, Red...I know what you're thinking, but...this isn't the time to think about what she would do-"

"It's not her this time." Snapped Red. "It's me. I made the decision; he stays. End of story!" Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Would you both shut up in there?!" shouted Hillocks from the next room. "Ask the kid what _**he **_wants to do! Now, be quiet! I'm a doctor, not an earplug!" And with that said, Hillocks promptly and loudly fell asleep. His snores were so loud that they even carried downstairs into the pub but were so soft that it just sounded like the building creaking.

"Okay, place your final bet." Instructed Barlow, helping Jack move a small pile of his chips into the middle of the table. "And now we show our cards starting with me." Barlow flipped his cards; a two and a four. "Two pair; two fours. You see?" he indicated. "Now Trent." Trent flipped his cards; an ace and a nine.

"Yeah-heh!" he cheered. "Three of a kind; three big bad aces!"

"We all guessed as much from your poker face!" jibed Hammond from across the room, laughing with himself.

"Okay, now you Jack. Whatcha got?" asked Barlow. Jack turned his cards; a two and another card that didn't have a number...but it looked so familiar. For some reason, Barlow frowned and slapped Trent on the back of the head. "Nice shuffling, nitwit. What's wrong with you? There are no jokers in poker. Why didn't you take it out?"

"I didn't know there were two; I only found the one at the front." Explained Trent.

"There's one at the front and one at the back. That's the way I put the cards in the pack."

"Then why don't you tell me?"

"Because I've been doing it for three freaking years!" They both froze when they realised Jack was staring at them blankly. "Sorry kid, but jokers aren't counted in the game."

"Why not?" asked Jack.

"Well...they just aren't, is all." Barlow attempted to answer. "They're just there to liven up the deck a little. Look, here, I'll give you another." Said Barlow, taking the joker from Jack and handing him another.

"What's this one?" asked Jack.

"That's you. Well, your namesake. It's called a jack." Answered Trent. "That one's worth ten."

"That's in twenty-one, dumbarse. We're playing poker-"

"I know what we're playing!" argued Trent, interrupting Barlow. The argument was broken up by the sound of Red and Zed walking downstairs.

"Right, Jack had better come with me." Said Red. "The rest of you start setting up the place before Webber gets here. I'm sure he'll enjoy not having to do all the work around you lot. Come on, Jack." Red held out his hand. Jack walked to him, holding Red's arm instead.

As they ascended the stairs, Red shrugged as he saw their adoring smiles along with Trent's; "Aww." Jack was feeling exhausted and quite unwell. His head felt heavy and his whole body ached. At least he could have a nice, long rest.

* * *

"Ah!" Jack awoke with a start. His throat felt like it had been screaming all night and his sheets were knotted around his limbs as though he had been tossing and turning. It had been a week since he had been christened and still the nightmares plagues him incessantly. The frighteningly frozen faces with their cartoonish expressions were unnatural. Worse than that were the vague memories of his own past mixed in with the dreams; the warped creature-esque figures, the rounded glasses, shrinking walls, drowning and the flashes of faces he knew but forgot after waking. It was all so jumbled in his mind despite what he was able to remember. It would probably never completely return but something in his mind told him that it was for the best. Jack pulled his sweaty top off and laid it out in front of him. He was startled by the door opening but it was just Red. He turned on the light and closed the door. "How are you feeling?" he asked. Obviously, he had heard the commotion.

"I'm sorry." Apologised Jack, looking down at the shirt in shame.

"No, no. It's fine." Reassured Red, walking over to the drawer and pulling out another shirt. "I used to have bad dreams too."

"How did you get rid of them?"

"Well, I haven't _**yet**_. I start dreaming and the nightmare starts up...but then I make it go away."

"Make it go away?" Jack was a little confused. Red sat down on the edge of the bed, unfolding the shirt slowly to draw out the conversation.

"Before I go to sleep, I imagine an object. Something everyday, mundane. Something I see all the time. Then, when I dream and in the dream I see whatever it is, then I know it's a dream." He got Jack to put up his arms while he put the shirt on him. "Because I know that I'm dreaming, I have complete control over it and I can make them go away." He finished, tucking Jack back into bed.

"What do you dream about?" asked Jack innocently. Red hesitated.

He thought, considered and finally answered; "Same as you; bad...bad memories." Red could see Jack still wanted to know more but was afraid to ask. With a sigh, Red added; "It's okay."

"What happened?"

Red sighed; "Okay. I'll tell you a little. When I was young, my mother died giving birth to my little sister. My dad couldn't cope so he moved us to a small fishing village when he could make a transfer to another precinct. He was a cop, you see. Not the best but at least he wasn't crooked. That's all he'd tell us when we were barely paying the rent; 'Better being poor than a crook'. That changed when mum died. Since he didn't fish and we didn't have the equipment to learn, he went out gambling to get the bills paid. At first it seemed to work, but then he got in bed with Mr. Booze." Red smiled at his pun but his face sunk when he remembered more. "There would be the warmest school days and the teachers would all wonder why I was wearing a jumper. The house became very strict when dad was drinking. If you didn't follow an order, you'd get a reason to. There were even times when I had to take the fall for Molly. I didn't want her to get hurt by him." Red tried to keep himself together. Jack decided the best thing to do was return the sentiment.

"I can remember a little bit more. Did you want me to-"

"No." interrupted Red. "I don't want you to tell me or anyone. Do you understand?" Jack shook his head, he didn't understand why. "Being with me...with us, it's our past that is usually our downfall. You tell someone and they tell someone else and it ends up reaching ears it shouldn't. To the world, Jack, you don't have a past that people can exploit. No one can use it against you. If you are ever caught, you still have the advantage of being anonymous. That is a rare gift in this world. So don't tell me. Don't tell anyone. If you're going to have a past, you're better off making it multiple choice." Jack thought about this and understood. In some strange way he would not understand for a long time, it all made sense.

"What happened to your dad?" asked Jack.

"He got in too deep with the wrong people." Began Red. "The precinct found out and gave him his two weeks' notice. A week later, on a raid of the loan shark he had been involved with, he was gunned down." Red checked his watch. "It's really late, Jack. You should be getting some sleep."

"I can't sleep."

"Yeah...yeah. Neither can I."

* * *

**And so ends the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed it; I certainly enjoyed branching out in terms of characters, locations and description. The most difficult transition was writing 'Jack' instead of 'J'! You'll definitely see his character progress significantly throughout this Story. I also hope you spotted Joker references.**

**Unlike 'Start of a Joke', 'Gotham's Red Knight' won't all take place in real time. There will be certain yearly gaps between each one (or in some cases, during the chapters themselves). I mention this in the off-chance that you might get confused while reading later chapters.**

**Anyway, I better get back to writing my book. I have actually written most of these chapters during breaks from my novel, so they have probably been sitting idle in my hard drive for weeks or even months. In the meantime, I suggest you read Keywee's story: The House That Jack Built. Take care and I hope that you enjoyed reading!**


	2. A Few Years In The Life

Joker

Story Two: Gotham's Red Knight

Chapter Two: A Few Years in the Life...

**G'day! The stereotypical Aussie hello to you all. Actually, the real way we say 'hello' to each other is...well, 'hello'. If you are reading this useless piece of information then you probably enjoyed Chapter One enough to move on into this one. Did you remember to review, or at least PM? Oh well, I just hope you liked it anyway.**

'**A Few Years in the Life...' (Gee, I wonder where that title was inspired from? :P) skips a few years inside. If you had read my disclaimer at the end of the last chapter, you would not be wondering how you are going to be able to tell the time jumps. If you are not feeling this, then bravo, you've been keeping track of ALL the writing. Another warning: I may have to draw this Story out to six or more chapters. Ooh! Spooky!**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this character development chapter!**

* * *

_So, where was I? Ah yes. Molly and I were separated to different foster guardians. She got Bludhaven, I got Gotham. I knew Bludhaven wasn't ideal for children; the blokes at my dad's old precinct couldn't keep their mouths shut about all the stories they'd heard from cops who served there. What the mobs like the Falcone's and Maroni's did to cops who came close to bringing down one of their operations. Some nights I wished they'd just shut up and play poker, but anyway. I was glad that Molly was in a safer place than I was and that her foster parents actually gave a damn about her. I guess I was older so the system decided I wasn't too high priority; whoever they stuck me with would be fine by them. So there I was; bouncing in and out of the system, all over Gotham until I finally came here to The Bowery. Never quite felt as home anywhere else as I did here. This place raised me. It was where I got my first initiation, how I got into all this..._

* * *

"How are we coming along?"

"_Just picked the lock, we're on the move. Zed should have the alarms deactivated by now, so the safe should be easy pickings."_

"That's good to hear. How's our inside man doing?"

"_Eh, he was a little anxious about putting on the helm, but he realised it was for the best after we explained it was for his __**protection**__."_

"Nice work, Webber. Keep it up." Red switched channels on his walkie talkie. "Zed, when you're done disarming the alarms, meet up with Webber, Barlow and the hood at the safe. They'll need you to open the electronic seal."

"_Right on top of that." _Informed Zed, the radio going silent afterwards. Red placed the walkie talkie on his lap, pressing himself into a comfortable position in the driver's seat.

"Why are you stealing money?" asked Jack who was sitting in the passenger's seat. "Isn't that bad?"

"Depends on who you are." Explained Red. "You see, depending on your point of view, things you would consider bad would be good and vice versa. Take this place for example." Red pointed to the GothCorp labs which his gang was at this very minute breaking into. "A new age of human exploration: discovering if a man or woman can live in ice and be re-awakened in the future intact. Great minds and important influential figures preserved for a better tomorrow when it may be possible to keep them alive forever with new advanced technology. Does that sound good?"

"I guess." Answered Jack with a shrug.

"Well, you are from a certain point of view." Continued Red. "But while these people dream about the future, the workers who create the machinery are sorely underappreciated and as a result, underpaid. They're made to suffer amongst the poor while they give the rich and powerful the chance to live forever with all the profits going to the superiors. Now does _**that**_ sound fair?"

"...N-No."

"Exactly. What we do isn't just for money. In a way, we're giving these companies...eh...incentive to change their ways by showing them what greed does to desperate people. Maybe then they'll give something back-" Flashing red and blue lights startled Red out of his train of thought. He and Jack peered into the review mirror and saw a police car pulling up behind them, a lone officer sitting inside. "Crap." cursed Red, turning off the radio and stashing it under his seat. "Jack, stay calm and keep quiet. Let me do the talking." Jack nodded in compliance as the officer walked up to the driver's side door. Red kindly slid down his window. "Hello." He greeted kindly.

"Hi. I'm Sergeant Taylor. I was just wondering if ya'll were in some kind of trouble I might lend assistance to?" asked Taylor politely. Red thought and shook his head.

"No, that's fine." He answered. "We're just waiting for the missus to get some stuff she forgot out of the apartment. Taking the kid to go meet some relatives out of town on a hiking trip."

"Oh, is this your son?" Taylor shone his light over on Jack who grinned and nodded. "Well that's nice." He then checked the back seat of the car. "For a hiking trip, you sure don't have much in the way of equipment." He said suspiciously.

"Well, the relatives have everything we need. Didn't seem right to them we squelch out a fortune on a one-time deal, you know?" airily explained Red. "We've lived in Gotham for most of our lives. Didn't really seem necessary to buy the essentials, but boy do I wish I have one of those walking poles to help me along after a long day's work, you know what I'm saying." Joked Red. He, and luckily, the officer laughed.

"Yeah, well, the boys on the force would appreciate something to take the strain off. A little liquid courage perhaps." Red chuckled at Taylor's joke. "Well, I'll leave you two alone. Have fun hiking and say hello to the wife."

"Will do." Smiled Red. The officer waved to Jack, walked back to his car and drove away. Only when the headlights were no longer in sight did Red let out a sigh of relief. He suddenly remembered the radio under the seat and quickly rummaged for it. He turned it back on to hear nothing; the others were still busy.

"Before, what did you mean by 'desperate people'?" asked Jack, still curious.

"Okay." Huffed Red, still getting his breath back. "When people can't provide for themselves or family they get desperate."

"I know that, but why do you take advantage of them?"

"Because they're the easy marks. The ones most likely to do what you say."

"How?"

"You dangle what they want in front of them. Tell them that to get from where they are to what they want, they must first do something for you." Answered Red. "They give us information, we give them exactly what they deserve." Jack nodded, but then wondered about something else.

"Why do you put that hood on them?" he asked.

"You know how our gang is called 'Red Hood'?" Jack nodded. "Well, the cops are expecting to see a guy in a red hood show up. We put our 'desperate person' in the hood to keep their identity a secret which also makes sure other people know who is responsible for this. That's its first use, when everything goes according to plan."

"And...what's the second?"

"When things don't." Suddenly, sirens blared far down the street behind them. Four cars in total bellowed towards them as four figures fled the GothCorp building. Red started up the car and popped the trunk.

Zed dived inside, cursing; "Goddamn silent alarm! Bane of my existence!"

"Bail!" shouted Barlow, chucking a duffel bag into the trunk. Webber gave the man in the red hood his duffel and jumped inside the car with Barlow.

"Wait, guys, I can't see!" panicked the red hood, feeling around for the trunk space. He only just managed to pile the remaining bags inside.

"Jack," began Red, "you remember that second use when things don't go right?"

"Yeah?" acknowledged Jack.

"Observe." As soon as the red hood closed the trunk, Red threw the car into reverse and shattered the man's legs. Red then put the car into drive and flew off down the street. Looking back, they watched as the four police cars all came to a halt, the cops leaping from their vehicles, surrounding the poor unfortunate soul writhing in pain on the pavement.

* * *

"Yes!" celebrated Zed, high-five-ing Barlow. Webber pulled himself up to the front between Red and Jack.

"Nice driving there, slick." He complimented.

"Not so bad yourself." Smiled Red. "We got the goods?"

"Everything that was in the safe. A lot o' money."

"Means we can pay off the Broker. When we get back, call up Sherman Fine and tell him we have his money." Reminded Red.

"Will do, boss."

"And hey, you met Jack yet?"

"Nah. Hey, how ya doing?" greeted Webber, shaking Jack's hand. "I heard a little about ya from the boys. They seem to like you enough."

"What do you do for the gang?" asked Jack.

"Me? Oh, I manage the gang's front." Answered Webber. "I'm a bartender."

Jack had been there to count the money many times before, but he had never actually seen how it got there in the first place. He, Red, Webber and Barlow sat around the table; Webber smoking a cigar, all drinking but only orange juice for Jack and laughing. He understood now why whenever they came back from a job that they were always so happy. The rush, the adrenaline that flowed through them that had stressed them was all being excreted through laughter. The feeling was inside him too. Even Zed, who hadn't been there for a while, came in with a smile. "Just let Hillocks know what went down. Think he's glad none of us got shot."

"Trust me, he's never happy when we're not shot." Assured Barlow. "He's hopeful it'll knock some sense into us someday."

"How much did we get away with?"

"Uhh..." Barlow pressed his tongue against his teeth and sucked air between them as he counted the blocks of bills on the table. "'Bout sixteen...seventeen and a half thousand." Zed whistled.

"Now that's a lot o' dough." Awed Webber.

"Hey Jack, you counted up twelve hundred?" asked Red.

"Yep." Answered Jack, pushing a small pile of bills to Red.

"Good boy." Said Red, pocketing the cash. "Come on, I gotta show you something." He urged Jack up out of his seat, then turned to the others. "Guys, we got seven hours until we open up top. I want this all cleared out and taken to the safe-house. And Zed, we're gonna need another cowl. Get Hunt working on another one; same size, same details, everything."

"You got it." Obeyed Zed. Jack was led out of the room, Red's arm hanging over his shoulder. He went for the staircase, until Red made an unusual turn and directed him to the cellar door.

"I promised that I would show you everything we do in the gang." Began Red as he opened the door. "You're part of us now, and when you get older you'll take part in some aspect...if you want to."

"I do." Answered Jack.

"Why's that, d'you reckon?"

"I dunno. It just feels...right." Jack looked up into Red's beam of approval and they descended into the bowels of the building.

"We've all got specific jobs in this place; I'm the leader so I have to make tough decisions, move us in different directions, strategize. I have Barlow to help me out with that too. Webber runs the gang's front; The Stacked Deck bar and casino. Not so large that we'll draw suspicion but not too small so that it looks out of the way. Zed's our computer expert; he can crack any code and break every connection...or whatever. Hammond has connections and he's great muscle. Hillocks stitches our wounds nice and clean but we never take him out with us. Trent and Hunt are good with equipment, just in case the job calls for some special treatment. And we all have to do our part in a job to get paid. You slack off, you get zip."

"I get it...but why are you taking me down here?" Jack was looking curiously at the basement filled with strange bubbling beakers, Bunsen burners, vials and makeshift machinery. This place didn't really seem to fulfil any purpose Jack could think of for the gang. "What are you showing me?"

"He's showing you me." Came a scratchy voice from another section of the basement. From what appeared to be a cramped office at the far end emerged a tall man, balding and wearing spectacles but ultimately dishevelled and unshaved. "Jack-y boy. The child found in the night. Not a clue to your origin, not a memory to cling to." The man knelt down to Jack's height, his arms resting on Jack's frozen shoulders. Without warning, he engulfed Jack in a great bear hug. "So good to meet you!" grunted the man before letting go. "The name's Essex. Walter Essex, but you can just call me by my last name. Everyone here calls themselves by their last names. Serves as some kind on anonymity amongst thieves, but I don't really see the point. Y'see, no one visits me often down here, 'cept Red, of course. Everyone else only comes down when they want what I have. Oh, but I'm just babbling on and on! I'm sorry. You're probably a little freaked out by me now."

"You're interesting." Enthused Jack which got a laugh from Red and a chuckle from Essex.

"This boy's got spirit and great promise." Complimented Essex to Red more than Jack.

"What do you do, Mr. Essex?" asked Jack.

"Oh no, just 'Essex' will do. Mr. Essex is my father. _**Was**_ my father, now my mother." He swung around, facing his lair with open arms. "This is my purpose!" he proclaimed. "Chemistry. When the going gets tough, I make sure that the going gets away while the tough are left in the lurch. I make tear gas, knockout gas, smoke pellets and explosive liquid and plastic explosives for show and for efficiency. Imagine being chased by the fuzz. How d'you get away? Drop one of those pellets and you'll disappear like a cat in the night! Maybe you're trying to get some crowd control going? A little knockout gas for your less riley civvies, but if you get a couple of 'heroes', make 'em think twice with the tear smokescreen!"

"Alright, that's enough." Red calmed down Essex. "I think the boy knows what you're on about."

"I wasn't too overboard, was I?"

"No. It was a nice presentation. I'm sure Jack enjoyed it too." Red began to walk to the rickety stairs. "C'mon, Jack. Let's leave Walter alone."

"I wanna stay." Asserted Jack excitedly.

"What do you know. Looks like you got a fan, Walt." Smiled Red. "I'm not sure if you can though."

"Please!" begged Essex.

Red mockingly thought about this for a short moment before conceding; "Okay then." Jack and Essex celebrated with simultaneous whoops of joy. "Never pegged you to be a chemistry buff, Jack, but if it's what makes you happy." It was. So very much.

* * *

_Sal Valestra was never the most welcoming man, but if you were on his side then at least you could consider yourself nearly untouchable...provided you stayed there. I guess he took pity on me, or maybe he figured I was easier to mould into another of his stooges, I dunno. At the time, I just considered myself lucky until I found out how I was to earn my place in the organisation. There were three kinds of people Sal hated more than any other; he despised the competition when it tried to outdo him on his own turf, he loathed one of his own betraying his trust but above all, he hated cops who smelled out his turf and wanted to shake the nest. Sure, most were on the payroll, but some were just hard cops; wouldn't take a dime, totally committed to their ideas of justice. It just so happened that there was one such detective who was getting too close for comfort at the time of my arrival. I was given the 'privilege' of carrying out the only punishment for being one of the three types of the abhorred..._

* * *

Red watched as the Lieutenant walked into his office and sat down in front of him, lighting a fat cigar. He hated these meetings; not only was the man loathsome to be in the presence of, but whenever he came, it usually meant bad news would follow. "Mind if I smoke?" asked the rounded figure belatedly. His voice was so grinding that the last thing it needed was to choke on noxious fumes.

"Just tell me what it is you came here for, Eckhardt." Pushed Red to Eckhardt's dislike.

"That's Lieutenant to you, Hood." He croaked.

"Hey," asserted Red, angrily standing, "_**I**_ pay you which makes me _**your**_ superior. I can call you whatever the hell I want. For now, just tell me what you came here for." Eckhardt just blew smoke in Red's face which prompted him to sit.

"You may pay me, but I got enough dirt on you to have you put away and this entire place shut down. You only give me a slice to shut me up. From my point of view, _**I**_ have the better deal here." Corrected Eckhardt. He changed the subject; "How long has it been since I've had to come down here? Two...Three years?" Red nodded. "Last I saw, you guys had this kid running around with you all. He still here?"

"Yes." Answered Red. Eckhardt grunted.

"It would be unfortunate to see a kid that young put in with all those sex-starved criminals over in Blackgate." The smoke was thick in the air. Red knew the difference between a bark and a bite. This was no bark.

"Jack's no kid anymore. He can look after himself." Asserted Red.

"Sure he can." Eckhardt rolled his eyes. "He's gotta be, what...fourteen? Yeah, I mean, I see lots of teenagers living the high life in prison." He flicked the ashes off the end of his cigar into a small waste bin by the desk. "Your operation is in jeopardy. There's a collar not sticking with your leash and he's closing in on your operations. Detective Blake Moran."

"How long has this been going on?" asked Red.

"His investigation has been ongoing for about three months." Informed Eckhardt. "Me and this Lieutenant...er...Gordon are part of the team aiming to take you down."

"Will Gordon be trouble?"

"Gordon's an 'honest' cop, dying breed, but if he scents a threat against the investigation, he won't pursue it."

"Wife?"

"And daughter. He'll be no problem, but Blake won't back away. Get rid of him and you deter Gordon off the case." Eckhardt suggested. "I can make the evidence disappear...for an extra cut." Red pursed his lips and sighed in deep frustration.

"Fine." He scythed through gritted teeth. "A little more notice would be handy next time."

"I had to be sure he was closing in." Eckhardt threw his cigar in the trash and stood up. "He thinks I'm a crooked cop. I best let you handle the dirty work. Say hi to the kid for me." Eckhardt reached for the door, but was stopped by Red's words.

"Eckhardt," began Red, "you better not tease Jack. That boy might be your boss someday." The Lieutenant glanced back for a mere moment before letting himself out. Red laid back into his chair. 'When did the hierarchy become so warped?' he wondered. There wasn't much he could do without his informant, despite how much he hated the thought of taking advice from the man. Still, there was nothing he could accomplish now but get rid of the threat at hand. It was just after midnight when he entered the bar. By then it was almost completely empty except for a few patrons, Trent, Barlow and Hunt at a table playing cards and Jack sweeping the floor. He nodded at Webber who began ushering the stragglers out the door.

"What's up, Red?" queried Hunt as soon as the door was locked shut.  
"We got a cop in way over his head." Answered Red.

"Docks?"

"A one-way trip. Hunt, Trent; you're with me. We'll swing by, pick him up, dump him and be back in no more than two hours. You two will get a bigger cut on the next hit. Go get your stuff." Red ordered. Jack knew what they were talking about. Tonight, someone was going to die. He had only been told a few details about what they did to people and was intent on knowing more.

"Red," he called, "I want to go too." Everything suddenly went quiet. Red had turned to Jack, speechless. Everyone else was staring at the two, waiting for a reaction. Hunt and Trent were on the staircase, transfixed. Hunt more so.

"Jack...you're only fourteen." Reasoned Red, but Jack would have none of it.

"You said that I should be treated like any other member of the gang." He asserted. "I want to see everything you do, no matter how...horrible."

"But-"

"C'mon, boss. Let Jack tag along." Inserted Hunt to the surprise of everyone else, especially Jack. "The boy is obviously mature enough to understand. He knows what he's about to witness. It's not like he's walking into it blind. Perhaps it'll be good to show Jack how dirty we all get our hands." Hunt didn't really want Jack to go along, but perhaps he could scare him away. No one was ever the same when they came back from their first hit, Jack would be no exception. There was another equally long silence as Red considered his course of action. Jack waited in anticipation and was not disappointed with the answer.

"Fine. You're with us."

* * *

_Sal told me exactly what to do. Told me to meet a man named Conrad in a maroon car on Lexington Street. Took me step-by-step through what we were gonna do until it was burnt into my skull. He was trying to make me think of it as a grocery list; it wasn't about what I was doing, but that I did it right. Didn't matter, I couldn't get it off my mind but I didn't want to piss off the boss. So I went out that Thursday, met Conrad on Lexington and we both went up to the cop's apartment and forced him down into the car. Quite simple really; only a dime store hooker to miss him. Cochran paid her off easily enough. When you're on the job, you try to distract yourself with the little things like; 'Gee, this bozo cop doesn't even lock the door' or 'Ten bucks wouldn't even get me to turn a blind eye' and you just fixate on that. That's what I did all the way down to the dockyards. Conrad and I pulled up outside the warehouse we found you by. He just walked inside; key in one hand, pig in the other by the scruff of the neck. I watched as Conrad tied the guy up to a chair and beat the crap out of him with his fists then a rusted old chain. I never thought the human body could bruise so much. The little thoughts. By the time my partner was done, there wasn't much of the detective left; most of his face was hanging off his skull. That's when Conrad handed me a six shooter. I was still only really a kid, barely seventeen. I'd used a gun before but only on cans and the occasional wall. Shooting a man, that's something wholly different. I took the gun, damn my hands were shaking, and squared myself before the husk. Down the sights, into the eyes, pull the trigger. Some people say pulling the trigger is the hardest...but I say it's the eyes. That's when you realise that what you're about to steal from the world is alive. I don't know how long it took me to reach that final stage..._

* * *

Crash! Trent and Hunt knocked the warehouse door open as they dragged Detective Blake Moran inside, Red and Jack in tow. They slammed him down on the simple wooden chair; Hunt gave him a small beating to keep him from struggling as Trent tied him up. They both stood back and let Red walk a little closer. "Is that-Is that all?" taunted Blake, a slur in his speech. He eyed Red with a menacing glare. They both paused for a moment, eyeing each other off before Blake spat in Red's face. "Whatever offer...you give..." he shook his head. "I won't take it."

"I wasn't going to make you an offer." Red placed the barrel of his revolver against Blake's temple. A small whimper issued from his lips as he felt the cold against his searing head. "More like an ultimatum. Who knows what you've got on us?"

"You're j-just gonna kill me...anyway." surmised the detective.

"That's true," admitted Red, "but would you rather I kill those who know or the entire force and anyone else you care about? We have the power to do that, Blake. We always have." Red's eyes were so convincing, and so they should have been. Every word he was saying was true. "So, the names."

"Me! Me! Okay, only me." Shouted Blake.

"What about Gordon and Eckhardt?" interrogated Hunt. "They're on your team, they should know."

"I kept them out of the loop. I wanted this to be my big arrest." Blake began to cry at his pig-headedness and plain bad luck. "I was gonna tell Commissioner Loeb in a couple of days...when I was absolutely sure..." He sobbed a little into his own shoulder. Red leaned in closer to Blake.

"Where do you keep everything you have on us?" he whispered.

"M-My office..." choked Blake, "a-and my apartment. Third floorboard...by the nightstand. Please, you don't have to kill me." He pleaded.

"I do."

"Oh God, please."

"It's too late-"

"God?" spat Hunt. He huffed insultingly. "God doesn't care about you." Red glared at him; why did he have to do this now? "If he did, then none of this would've happen."

"Hunt." Warned Red.

"Man, don't-" Trent attempted to force Hunt off the subject, but he continued regardless.

"Do you know who it was that sold you out to the hounds, little pig?" Hunt was enjoying this too much. "Eckhardt. One of your own. Where was God to warn you about trusting the wrong man?"

"That's enough!" Red rounded on Hunt who backed away a little. "This man's been tortured enough without you twisting the knife in the wound." None of them realised that Blake Moran was no longer crying. In fact, he was quite calm and collected for a man in his situation. Behind the back of the chair, his hands were busy at work, cutting away at the duct tape with a penknife he had smuggled in his sleeve since his brawl back at the apartment. He felt the snap as his bonds were broken. "We do this quick and without any more pain." Continued Red. "Understand?"

"Look ou-" shouted Trent until Blake silenced him with a blow to the throat. He kicked the thug away and went for the other two. Red was knocked aside by Hunt as he tried to attack the officer. Hunt tried to block Blake's thrust with the knife, but it stabbed him through the right hand, cleaving the middle and out the other side. As Hunt screamed in pain, he pulled himself away and huddled against a support post. Red held up his gun but it was kicked away. Blake knelt down on Red's arms, pinning him to the floor and held the blade up for the killing blow. Bang! The blast rang out so suddenly, not even Blake realised he had been shot. Bang! Bang! Detective Moran was thrown off Red by the force of the final two shots. Despite the hurried shuffling to secure Blake in case he survived, sound was no longer registering with any of them. Hunt stayed against his support, cradling his wounded hand, staring at the revolver. There was no pulse; Blake was dead. Trent and Red, breathless, turned their attention to the shooter; Jack. He stood there; one arm extended with weapon in hand, barrel still smoking from the shot. The light in his eyes was something altogether new.

* * *

_That feeling when you first kill a man, when you become aware that it is impossible to undo the unthinkable. Your whole world comes tumbling down around you. There are so many voices inside you that just scream at you, begging for you to feel something. When you realise that you haven't even reacted to what you have done, that's when the panic sets in...then the anger...then the sorrow and regret. How could you have done this? Why did you do this? You can try to explain it away, but it won't make any difference. In the end, it was your decision and no one else's. It becomes the defining moment in your life. I know that I can remember every detail. The one thing I remember most is his name; Malcolm Hall. That name haunt me until my dying day and beyond. It all does; the pain, the regret, the name...I suppose this is how it is. This is how everyone feels after their first time._

"No..."

* * *

**Thanks for reading Chapter Two! I hope you enjoyed it and saw all the references I'm piling in. If you enjoyed this, please Review or PM me.**

**The characters are really coming together for me; I'm finding myself thinking as several people at once trying to write some of these scenes. The focus is shifting from Red to Jack and back again, as you may have noticed. It's mainly because Jack is at that age where he's between asking questions and making decisions.**

**Thanking my avid readers, reviewers and followers once more!  
**

**The new heights and lows I can make these characters reach now is extraordinary! It just makes me laugh with glee to know what is ahead! Until next time, have fun reading other stories (such as Keywee's Joker origin story)!**


	3. A Laughing Matter Prt:1

Joker

Story Two: Gotham's Red Knight

Chapter Three: A Laughing Matter (Part One)

**Cha-ha-ha-hapter Three!**

**I apologise for that lame joke. Anyway, yes, the third chapter in Story Two. This may be more of a humane chapter, compared to the rest. You'll understand why when you get there. Some parts are light-hearted and happy while other parts have a dark undertone and problems arise.**

**I'd like to take this moment to just take it all in. I never thought I would get this far in the story in such a short period of time. Thanks to you; my avid readers. I wouldn't be doing this if it weren't for your continued support. And, as always, if this chapter was written to your liking, please leave a Review or a PM. Enjoy!**

* * *

_I didn't do much but drive. Drive north, drive south, east, west, yadda yadda. Sal didn't make me go out on patrol or keep an eye on his cash. He just had me drive him around...and occasionally dispose of trash. It got easier after the first time, I must admit. I suppose when you had the kind of job I did, you try to bury your feelings in whatever you could. For me, that was more killing. It was like with every man or woman I took, I buried them on top of him. It got to the point where there were so many bodies under my feet that I couldn't see him anymore. Just a slight nagging in the back of my head, but I can live with that. Anyway, as a full time driver for Salvatore Valestra, you hear things and he begins to trust you. We forged a professional friendship. It never would have gone any further than that; he was never the kind of man to affiliate with the help. One day, and I thought this was strange, he started conversing to me about one of his business partners; Rene Dupree. Sal started usually enough; just some minor details about how Rene and his family were taking seclusion in Gotham City for a while and how Sal had been asked to provide him protection. I already knew a little about Rene and his wife, Adele; that they were from a little down south and that they were quite well off. Just whispers and passing conversation. Then the conversation went weird; Sal started talking about their daughter. He said how she was a ballerina, that she was a little bit of a spoilt brat and last but predictable least; she needed a personal guard. Now, Sal was no smooth operator; I could see the catch coming a mile off, but I couldn't argue with the guy. For better or worse, I was stuck with the bitchy ballerina..._

* * *

It had been a few good years for the Red Hood gang; many of the companies and organisations had been introducing pay cuts due to the lack of income being generated by the city. Rather than being fair, they decided to play it greedy and stockpile their cash on the premises for safe keeping, trusting their underpaid employees with this information. It had made it all the more easier to find volunteers willing to get their own back and who did they go to but the Red Hood. That name used to be the footnote at the end of a column somewhere. That was years ago. Now, there was a low whisper being spread through the city about the maroon helmed man, disappearing into the night, baffling police and leaving no traces as to his or her true identity. Some journalists had taken to calling the Red Hood an 'it'. During all this time, no one had managed to track down the gang. Eckhardt had been right; as soon as Blake Moran's body washed ashore, Gordon hadn't even bothered to pick up the pieces. Even if he had, there were many gaps that had been made, some destroyed, others died with Blake. Perhaps it had been the lack of evidence, or the realisation that he was surrounded by cops who were raking in more dough on the side than they were on the job. Either way, his case was sealed. The GCPD was under their thumb, along with Commissioner Loeb. Even the fat cats of Gotham City were fleeing for their lives including its noble son; Bruce Wayne. But, as always, there was bad news. The fight for power was coming to a header; the Falcone family was becoming increasingly concerned about the Red Hood's influence building to a point larger than theirs and had made advances to take over the territory. Red's only choice was to convince Salvatore Maroni to mediate a truce between the conflicting heads. If this didn't get resolved soon enough, there would be a bloodbath that the Red Hood gang might not see the end of. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, it was business as usual at The Stacked Deck. It was crowded with gamblers, drunks and general dregs looking for a cheap thrill. Caught in the middle of it all was the lean teenage boy, sweeping the small stage in the corner clean for an upcoming act. Jack had never been present for the performance, always sent to bed before it began, but every night he heard the laughter generated from the lowlifes below. Tonight would be different. Red had an important meeting with some business partner in the back and it would take a while. Webber would let Jack stay up for the performance and then cover for him later. With the stage completely clean, Jack turned to Webber at the bar who winked at him to take a seat wherever he wanted. As preferred, Jack took a seat with Zed, Trent and Barlow, all of whom were casually playing a card game. "Nineteen." Sighed Trent, revealing his queen and a nine. "Hope that's enough."

Barlow smiled; "Hate to burst your bubble there, slick, but..." he flipped his cars to reveal an ace and a jack, "my glass is exactly twenty-one inches full." Zed and Trent exchanged glances.

"Nah." They said in unison.

"Yeah, not the best reveal line, is it?"

"Especially not when I have a chance." Said Zed, overturning his two and a nine. "Hit me-and don't physically hit me. You're not the comedian; he's meant to be up on stage."

"Comedian?" asked Jack. He'd never heard that word before.

"Yeah, you know, a guy who tells jokes-c'mon baby!" Zed trailed off the thread, seeing a six added to his hand. He then returned to Jack. "He makes people laugh with gimmicks and stories and...physical comedy. Slapstick and the like. Charlie Chaplin, you know?" Jack understood before, but Zed had just made it even more confusing. For starters, he didn't even know a man call Charlie Chaplin and neither did he want to know what a 'Slapstick' was. "Ah, never mind-Oh! No!" Zed had just been dealt an eight and was now over twenty-one. "Crap."

"Ha-ha!" laughed Barlow greedily, sweeping the dollar bills to his side of the table. "Don't mess with the Barlow, boys."

"Would you shut up with that?!" argued Zed but the fight was cut short when the bar lights went down, leaving only the stage alight. The crowd chatter died down to a small murmur then broke out into applause as a tall, thin and greying man walked up onto the stage.

"Hello, hello!" greeted the man, waving to the audience. "I gather you've all been drinking, then? Yeah, I can tell. Funny about that; the barman insisted alcohol be served as soon as he saw my dress rehearsal. I dunno why!" Everyone laughed except for Jack. He sat and smiled as the man's last few words were lost in gasps and giggles. "For those of you who don't know, my name is Barney Earlwright; part-time comedian in full time debt. I just came from having the casts taken off my broken legs." Jack understood the humour, it was funny, but the power behind the words was what intrigued him. The fact that they were true. "I'm up here as a favour to one of my 'investors'-I say 'favour', what I really mean is that I was given an offer I couldn't refuse. That offer was either I draw in a crowd and get the money flowing in and the booze flowing out...or I spend the next few months in hospital looking like the Vitruvian Man." Another loud burst of hysteria from the audience as Barney imitated the famous Da Vinci design; arms and legs splayed out in a star. Trent was banging the desk with his fist, crying with laughter. "I see we've got the cultured drunks in. Hey!"

"Hey!" chimed the bar back at Barney.

"They're _**all**_ in tonight! Only cultured drunks would choose to live in The Bowery, as you should. The Bowery has the greatest architecture, the richest history in all of Gotham _**and**_ the best places to get shitfaced. Who wouldn't wanna live here? I left twenty years ago for bigger and better things, but I came back and I must say...that you-all of you-have perfectly preserved the same state of crappy-ness that I remember from my childhood." He had them on a string. With every quip, every motion, Barney Earlwright owned the room. This was power acquired over a lifetime of experience...and Jack wanted to learn it. "First thing I did when I got back; I took a walk on the streets, breathed the...air...and visited some of my old friends. I used to just call them 'friends' but that changes when you realise how old _**you**_ are. Manny, my oldest friend, is still as horny as he was when we were teenagers whistling at the brauds that walked by. We were out on the street, retracing the paths we took decades ago, when this one beautiful peach passes us by. I didn't notice her 'cos I was busy with Manny, chatting away. He turns and he says 'Gord, look at that great dame!' so I turn and give her a wolf whistle. Now, not only did I fail to realise at time that she was a police woman, but that Manny...was actually admiring her dog. And I don't know, the cops must be training their dogs according to gender stereotypes now, because that dog was trained on command of a wolf whistle to attack. Running with two broken legs is no easy feat. I'd have been better off doing cartwheels." Literally, no one had touched their drinks. Everyone was in stitches, their guts were busting and throats hurting from laughter. If you were missing this, you were either busy or dead.

* * *

Flanked by two of his men, Maroni entered through the back door of this grubby building. The room was quite dark and had only a small round table in its centre where Red was seated in the half light. Surveying the room, Maroni nodded to his guards to wait outside when he was assured there was no one else here. He took a seat opposite Red, his chair turned to face the door should he need to make a dash. "Mr. Hood." He greeted, taking off his hat.

"Maroni." Returned Red. "How are the kids?"

"Smalltalk is not necessary, Mr. Hood." Replied back Maroni. "My only business here tonight is to talk to you on my family's behalf. If you got problems, I doubt this chit-chat's gonna solve them." He motioned for Red to just spit it out.

"I understand that the situation between you and the Falcone's have been quiet for the last few years," began Red with a sigh, "so I assume you're on good terms."

"Assume away."

"Then you should know all about their attempts at our territory." There was an uncomfortable silence. "Shit, Sal, we've known each other a long time. We go way back. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for your family's permission and you know I would never go above the mob. Why haven't you stepped in?" Maroni turned to Red head on.

"Listen here, Red. My father may have taken kindly to your little organisation, but he's not in charge here anymore. I am. The Bowery belongs to me." He toned himself back a bit. "Now, while I may trust you-to an extent-you've got the old man Falcone worried because you've got a little more of something that he doesn't; power. You've bought off politicians, cops, the freaking Police Commissioner. The only reason they're not breaking down your goddamn door right now is 'cos you still ain't got the Mayor. Did you not think there would be repercussions?"

"Then what do you want me to do?" questioned Red heatedly. Maroni sat back, chewing over his thoughts.

"Extend the olive branch; give 'em something they want to show that you're not for taking over."

"How do I know they won't use it against me?" asked Red.

"You don't. Taking chances is part of the game." Maroni turned his hat on the table. "You've got a lot of chips and that makes the other players suspicious. How do they know you haven't got a card up your sleeve?" Red tilted his head down to the table and closed his eyes. This was such a bad mess.

"No." he said finally. "I can't give them anything. Not yet, anyway. At least set up a meeting so we can come to some sort of agreement. Don't forget; you wouldn't have the _**whole **_Bowery if it weren't for me." Maroni put on his hat and stood up.

"Yeah, I know." He walked over to the door, leaving it ajar for a moment. "I'll see what I can do." He said before exiting the room. As the car pulled out of the alleyway, Red sank down into his chair. Everything seemed to be going so well and then all this had to happen. What were they supposed to do? Pack up and go on to honest jobs? None of them could and he knew it. After being in the game a while, you tend to notice that an honest job doesn't mean an honest living. The cheers from the bar startled Red before he remembered the comedy night was on now. At least he was assured some people were oblivious to these problems. Ignorance truly is bliss.

* * *

"I hear now that the rate of stray cats has doubled in Gotham over the last three years. I mean, I always said that it would be nice to see some extra pussy on the streets, but this wasn't exactly what I meant!" The bar had been filled to the brim. Passers-by were just being drawn inside to discover why everyone was in such high spirits. Barney Earlwright had been on stage nearly an hour now and was showing no signs of slowing down. "I was sitting at home with my wife, and the thing you gotta know about me is that I like nuts. Not like that! You dirty minded people. I like to eat different varieties of nuts; cashews, wall nuts, peanuts and so on. So we're sitting in the living room, she's doing her knitting, I'm on the couch with a bowl of nuts doing my party trick; throwing 'em up..." Barney grabbed a nut from a bowl on a table, threw it in the air and caught it in his mouth, "and catch it. This took years to master and at this point, I hadn't missed a toss in years. On this night, I throw it up to catch but I get distracted by..." Jack didn't hear any more. As he looked over the crowd, his eyes landed on a girl sitting several tables away. She stood out for three reasons: one; she was a little young to be in a place like this, about Jack's age, two; she was quite well dressed in brighter colours and three; she was very gorgeous. Every time the crowd laughed, he could only hear her soft giggles. Jack noticed how whenever she was concentrating on the joke, she bit her bottom lip in anticipation for the punchline. How he had not seen her sitting there before, Jack had no idea, but whoever she was he had to find out. "And I said 'by the smell of his fingers, he's gonna be our son-in-law!" These words snapped Jack into reality once more. Barney chuckled along to his own joke himself before wiping his brow. "Well, that's all the time I've got folks. I'll be back this Wednesday with a brand new routine. If you wish to find me before then, I'll either be safe at home or split up all over the city. Until then, goodnight!" Barney jumped right off the front of the stage and walked right through the audience, each person he passed patting him on the back amidst a standing ovation. Amazingly, he stopped at the table where the girl was sitting at. She and whom Jack assumed was her father stood to greet Barney. Just as Jack was about to walk over and introduce himself, Red appeared from the exiting horde beside Barney and began interacting with them.

"Oh boy." Fretted Zed, who immediately stood between Jack and Red and began leading him towards the staircase. Trent and Barlow in the meantime decided they would go distract Red so that he wouldn't look Jack's way. "Get to your room!" hissed Zed.

"But I wanna know who-"

"Red's coming! Go, now!" Without another word, Jack obeyed and ran into his room. Switching off the light, he instinctively dove under the covers just as the sound of approaching footsteps creaked through the walls. They stopped outside of the door, the light was broken underneath. Slowly, it opened but the person didn't enter.

"So, did you enjoy the show tonight, Jack?" asked Red. Jack could feel the smirk burning into the back of his skull. There was no point in feigning sleep now.

"It was fun." He answered, rolling over in his bed. "That guy was pretty funny. Why weren't you there?"

"I told you; business meeting." Jack wasn't buying it. Red sighed and walked inside. "All right, I was talking to Salvatore Maroni. He owns The Bowery."

"I thought..._**you**_ owned The Bowery." Checked Jack quizzically.

"Nah, he's the top dog. I just own a small slice; what he lets me keep-but let's not go into it tonight." Halted Red, noticing Jack was about to ask another question. "You should have been in bed."

"I just wanted to see the show, is all." Jack paused for a moment, building up the courage to ask. "Red, who was that girl? The one whose father you were talking to?" Red chuckled, much to Jack's displeasure.

"Did you have your eyes on Marybeth Grogan?" he grinned devilishly. Jack blushed, turning his red face out of sight. "Little boy Jack has finally been whipped." Red teased, poking Jack in the sides.

"Stop it!" cackled Jack, trying to subdue Red's tickling. "I'm not whipped! I'm just...interested. Who is she?"

"_**She**_ is _**way**_ out of your league."

"How come?"

"She's the daughter of a cop." It must be said that Jack wasn't all too pleased with Red's information, but he didn't want to give up on these new things he was feeling.

"So?" he asked with all the ego he could muster. Red just clicked his tongue and ruffled Jack's hair.

"You sure?" he checked. Jack nodded. "All right. Your funeral. He's Captain Peter Grogan of the GCPD, he's on the take and he's joining us for dinner tomorrow night."

"Okay-Wait, what?!" Jack did a double take.

"We're going to Sal Maroni's restaurant for a meeting and _**you'll**_ be there." Red began walking for the door.

"Why do _**I**_ have to go?" Jack was almost pleading to Red to take him off the guest list.

"Because the good Captain was worried that his daughter would have no one to talk to. Sweet dreams, lover-boy." And with that, Red closed the door on a startled Jack. He had no hope of sleep tonight.

* * *

_There she was. To her, I was the lowly chaufer but to me, she was a dream of perfection. Her posture, her delicate features, that seductive walk and southern drawl made my knees turn to jelly...and I figured I needed to wear pants that were a little loose around the waist. It took me only a second to realise that I had glimpsed her before; walking the short distance from a limo to a charity ball or dinner and back. Seeing her up close and in the flesh was almost too personable. For a long while, I thought she hadn't recognised me, until one day when she recalled me waiting outside a hotel smoking a cigarette. At the time, I hadn't thought much of her then. In fact, she was just another pretty face to throw over the arms of rich bastards. We had flirted that one time, but it had all passed by then...or at least __**I**__ thought it had. Even if something was still there, it was overshadowed by life; Adele Dupree wasn't exactly the most nurturing of mothers and constantly reminded her daughter how much her life would amount to nothing. Then there was the endless string of men she baited at her doorstep and finally; ballet. With these in life, there was no way we could have any kind of relationship, despite how much she relied on my advice. On more than one occasion, when one of the 'boyfriends' decided to not turn up at a performance, I was there to pick up the pieces and nurture the tormented soul...until another was found._

* * *

"How are you enjoying the bolognaise, m'boy?" posed Salvatore Maroni cheerfully. The question threw Jack so far out of his thoughts that he suddenly realised he had no idea where he was. Ever since last night, he had been so deep inside himself that the previous day had become a complete blur. He didn't remember waking up, cleaning the bar, getting all dressed up and entering Sal Maroni's Italian Restaurant. He looked down into his bowl of spaghetti which looked like someone had started to eat it. Was it him? It had to be; Jack could taste tomato. He probably should say something while he still had the chance.

"Yes, it's delightful." He complimented loudly; he still didn't have complete control over himself just yet.

"Ah, good! Good! I'm glad we're all enjoying ourselves." As Maroni continued talking, Jack zoned out to see who else was there. To his right was Sal at the head of the table, to Jack's left was Red, at the far end sat a rounded, balding man Jack had never seen before and on the opposite side were Captain Grogan and...her. She didn't seem to have noticed Jack, which appeared to be a good thing at first. Then Jack noticed that Marybeth wasn't looking up at anyone; in fact, she looked as though she didn't want to be here at all. It was as if she wanted to sink into the background and blend in with the woodwork. Unfortunately for her, conversation denied her this. "It's like I'm dining with my extended family." Continued Maroni. "I'm here with my law enforcers...and my police officers," he joked, indicating Peter and the other man who nodded back, "and little Jack and Miss Grogan." Finished Maroni, patting both of them on the shoulder briskly.

"Burkett." Fractiously corrected Marybeth. Peter let his face sink into his hand.

"Pardon?" queried Maroni, taken aback.

"Burkett is her mother's name." Informed Grogan. "Since our separation, Marybeth's been quite attached to it-I thought we weren't going to do this tonight." He finished, hissing quietly to his daughter.

"I wouldn't have if you'd left me at mum's." she hissed back. Red decided to intervene the upcoming fight.

"_**So Gillian**_," he began loudly to stop any form of insult from being made, "how's life as the head honcho?" Jack stifled a laugh.

"It is fan-tastic." Said the man at the far end, spacing his words out just to make sure that there was a little time for the Grogan clan to calm down. "It's a great position to have and the quirks are the best. You get your own parking space, work with some of the _**best**_ cops this city has to offer," he glanced at Grogan who half smiled, "great pay and free dinner with celebrities!"

"Here, here!" cheered Grogan, raising his glass to Sal. Red followed suit.

"Loeb over there is Gotham's Police Commissioner." Inserted Maroni into Jack and Marybeth's ears. She just rolled her eyes; it was old news. Half an hour later and the main course was over. As they waited for dessert to be served, Loeb and Grogan entertained the table by recalling some of their more unusual arrests.

"So we were sent out to some distress call from a guy who said his fiancée had gone crazy after finding out he was having an affair and was gonna kill him." Reminisced Grogan, Loeb nodding away as he too remembered the events. "All of a sudden, the call cuts out."

"Both of you?" asked Red.

"No, no. Grogan and his partner...uh...Anderson...or...?" Guessed Loeb.

"Ander-Smith!" answered Grogan, clicking his fingers. "Anyway, we go over to check up and the first thing we see is this man dangling off the balcony four stories up. This punts is naked. Butt naked and the whole street is taking a gander. Ander-Smith and I go up to find his fiancée naked too. She starts waving a knife in the air and tells us that they were in the middle of having sex when he calls out the wrong name. When he confessed to her, she tells him everything is all right, then she offered to give him a blow job." Marybeth just sunk deeper into her slouch. Jack couldn't keep his eyes off her, but she still hadn't noticed him. "When he accepted, she tried to bite his thing off which led to the chase, which led to the knife then it led to him almost falling out of the balcony. While we're trying to calm her down, we get the knife off her, another woman walks into the apartment. _**She**_ claims to be the other woman and didn't know he already had a fiancée. Naturally, the two have a cat fight. What they don't realise is that while they're punching each other up, we've smuggled the poor bastard out of the apartment."

"That's when I get the call over the horn and Grogan tells me about these two women!" Took over Loeb. "He's all; 'They're toe-to-toe in there. What do you want us to do?' and I said; 'Put me down for fifty the fiancée wins!'" While in regular conversation, this story mightn't have been so amusing, the amount of alcohol consumed by the four adults that night made almost anything sound humorous. As they slapped each other's backs and chortled the air out of their lungs. Finally, it all became too much for Marybeth to handle anymore, having to watch her father become a drunken lout.

"Excuse me." She said, rising from her chair and making her way towards the kitchen without even a moment's notice from anyone but Jack. He sat there and wondered if she had to put up with Captain Grogan's intoxicated behaviour a lot. Perhaps that was why she didn't want to see it now. Just as Jack decided to put it all from his mind, Red nudged him with his elbow. He nodded towards the door, urging for Jack to follow Marybeth. With one last consideration, Jack rose from his chair and entered the kitchen to find Marybeth standing close to the door with her head shaking in her hands.

"Are...Are you okay?" Asked Jack pathetically.

"What do you think?!" she spat back at him. He felt he'd deserved that; it didn't take a shrink to tell there was something wrong. She pushed her hair back behind her ear, at least attempting to stomach her hatred of her father and not thrust it upon Jack. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine." Assured Jack.

"It's just...well, you saw him out there, didn't you? Practically drank as much as he could."

"Maybe he's depressed."

"Depressed? No, he's celebrating." Marybeth leaned against the counter. "Now all he wants is to get rid of the memories of my mother. He's drinking to forget."

"But what about you? You're most certainly a reminder, so why did he drag you along?" Jack was quite straight-forward with his question, but Marybeth didn't mind.

"Dad's gotta keep up appearances. Eventually, he'll be rid of me and I'll never see him again. How can you despise your own flesh and blood so fiercely?"

"I'm sure he loves you deep down-"

"I wasn't talking about him." She interrupted. "I meant me." Marybeth looked down at her feet, her eyes closed, as she wondered how life would have turned out if things were different. Jack knew that look. While he had never wished he didn't have the life he was living, there were times that he imagined something...other.

"Marybeth-"

"Mary, please." She insisted. "Peter wanted to call me Beth."

"Mary," repeated Jack. "you're-" Bang! Bang! Crash! The air around them was filled with debris and tiny projectiles. The walls were riddled through and through with bullets, tiny shards of wood and tile flew across the kitchen. Jack's first instincts were to pull Marybeth to the ground and hide her under the counter. She wasn't screaming, but quickly curled herself into a tight ball and pulled Jack over her like a blanket. The noise was deafening and by the end of the eons the barrage lasted, everything was cut to shreds. "Stay down." Ordered Jack, crawling over to the kitchen door. He rose to his feet and pushed it open, entering the restaurant. Outside the glass-less window, a pair of headlights pulled away, screeching off down the street. The whole front dining area had been torn to shreds. Red hobbled over to Maroni who was covered in chair pieces and pulled him to his knees.

"Sal, you alright?" he huffed. Maroni brushed himself off.

"Fine, fine-You're shot." Red checked his leg, just a graze, or at least hurt like one.

"I'll be fine." Jack ran over to Red and took the weight off his left leg. "Loeb?! Grogan?!" Two figures rose through the cloud of dust in the air.

"Over here." Signalled Loeb, holding Grogan steadily by the shoulders. Peter was cradling his bleeding head, a scratch across his forehead. "Pete's been hit. Hope you already know, I have no intention of preventing any retaliation."

"Duly noted, but let's focus on what needs to be done. You two had better leave out back before you're seen interacting with us." Red pointed to Grogan and Loeb who nodded and began making their way to the kitchen when Marybeth burst through the door.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed at the sight of her wounded father.

"I'm fi-Argh! Fine." He groaned after having Marybeth hug him tightly in an area that was obviously bruised. All three left the dining area, Jack keeping his eyes on Marybeth as long as he could until the door swung closed.

"Jack. Jack, help me to the car." Red snapped Jack out of his daydream. He started to carry Red over to the front door.

"Hey Red!" called Maroni. Red turned back. "Go get 'em back." Red nodded and nudged Jack to continue on their way. They were met at the window by Trent who helped carry Red outside and drive them all back to The Stacked Deck. When they arrived, Hillocks promptly began stitching Red's leg up.

"I recommend you stay off it for a few weeks, but I'm just a medic, what do I know?" He noted sarcastically. Hillocks could see that Red was in no mood to sit still, not after an attack like this.

"We're going after Falcone's men." Stated Hunt. "There's no other option. We'll plan it out and then strike. Take 'em all out."

"You try that and I might as well shoot you myself. It would be more merciful than what The Roman would do to you." Red couldn't believe the short-sightedness of Hunt. It really bugged him so much. "No. We have to act now when they least expect it but we're not gonna kill any of them." Hunt already hated this plan. "We break into one of their storage warehouses, trash the place, send them a message just like the one they sent us tonight."

"_**That**_ wasn't a message, Red! It was a goddamn hit!" argued Hunt.

"They didn't aim to kill, otherwise I wouldn't be needing stitches. It's old-fashioned Falcone family scare tactics. Carmine's playing his father's handbook. Looks like the old man is becoming somewhat merciful at his age." Red turned to Hunt. "No killing. Just trash the place. Got me?"

"Yeah."

"Just in case, I'm coming with you."

"Wait, no! No, no, no. I've got this one."

"Well, I don't trust a man who's quick to let revenge into his mind." Red stood, much to the dismay of Hillocks who'd rather he sit. Instead, he just dropped his tweezers and scizzors onto the counter loudly and left. "I'm going. That's that. You'll take Trent, Barlow and Webber inside. I'll drive."

"No, Red. I'll drive." Insisted Jack, stepping forward. "I know the streets well, and you're in no condition."

"No arguments from me." Agreed Red. The talking was over. The message was about to be delivered.

* * *

_There was this one rich schmuck; sat on a throne made of cash. She flocked to him like there was no tomorrow. Just like every other man that came her way, he barely spared her a dime or stuck around. At first it looked a little serious, after a month or so, but then the cracks started to form and he never came to her performances. I tried to do the right thing; told her that he had a business meeting or that there was some important job he had to tend to. Saw right through my lies, but at least it let her believe for a while. She made me promise I would always come to performances and rehearsals, despite the fact I already did. As if I could miss 'em! If only I could be somebody else, somebody rich and noticeable. I was barely scratching a living off the bones of Valestra's enemies. In a city like this, if you had cash, you were a target. If you had respect or power, it was likely to be stolen. Unfortunately for me, this is what I needed to get her._

* * *

Another dark night sitting in the car, this time Jack was behind the wheel. He was nervous, more than he was during the barrage back at the restaurant. Even Red was biting his nails, watching the warehouse out the window. "You can turn on the radio, if you want." He suggested.

"Nah, I'm right." Jack responded. He didn't much care for music, especially at a time like this. "How long is this going to take?"

"As long as it needs to." Red was very evasive. Jack guessed that came with the close call of death. "We're doing this to keep Falcone at bay."

"Why are you telling me this? I know what you're doing."

"I know you know what we're doing, I just want to tell you why." Explained Red. "Two different people can do the same thing but for two completely different reasons. It's the reason that I want you to understand because that's all that matters." Red sighed. "I won't lie to you, Jack, but I've been losing faith in the group for years. Most of the boys are fine, but there are some, like Hunt, that only see the benefits and not the actions to get them. He doesn't understand that to pull this kind of operation off, you need strategy, commitment and a hell of a lot of patience. Sure, you can storm in with your machine guns in balaclavas and kill a couple of hostages, but that's not right. Someday, you'll understand." Red turned away, back towards the warehouse. He sometimes got like this; into a depressed state where he tried to explain away the world to Jack. Even though Jack was taking it seriously, he was afraid of what it meant. "Time?" Red asked through the radio.

"About a minute." Replied Hunt. "Trent's picking the lock of the offices. We'll be in soon." Hunt turned off the radio and rolled his eyes. When would that man learn? When a shark bites, you don't hold back on your punches. You show him that you mean business and give him a good stab in the eye. Falcone had that reputation and it was about time somebody stood up to that power-hungry crime family. Red's little game of tennis wasn't going to impress him. Hunt knew how the game worked and with every passing day, he felt Red's mind slip from the job just a little more. It was all Jack's fault. To take part in this game, you had to be detached from your work. One day, just one bad day would be all it took for the tables to turn. He could sense that Jack would soon take up Red's mantle, and when that day came, Hunt would be there to snatch it away. He diverted his attention to the door and namely, Trent. "Hurry up."

"I'm trying." Tisked a preoccupied Trent. "It's been a while since we've broken into anywhere. I'm a little rusty." He continued to pick away at the lock. On the other side of the glass, unbeknownst to the four men outside, several of Carmine Falcone's men were aiming their guns at the door, just waiting for their prey to fall into the trap.

* * *

_Conrad had fallen on worse times than me. Already, he was scouring the city looking for a dishonest job and soon found one. There was a group that he wanted to get in with and the job would pay big bucks, setting him up for months to come. Only problem was, he wanted me to assist. At first, it seemed so moronic. Why the hell would I turn my back on Valestra? The man had given me everything, and besides, doing it would mean my head. Conrad assured me that only we two would know about the job and, because he was my friend, and because I knew too much, I agreed. What was the harm of carrying a little extra cash? Maybe I could buy something to impress my girl? Perhaps this could be the chance I was waiting for, the big break. I could finally show just how much I loved my dear Jeannie._

* * *

**Thanks for reading Chapter Three! As you can tell, I've had to split this one up into two, so there will be a few more chapters in this story than the last. I'm happy about that.**

**Thank you, beautiful people, for following this storyline. I couldn't be happier with the responses I've gotten and the reviews from MintierBadger, Keywee and Nina Feliz. You're really inspiring me to write bigger and bolder stories.**

**I should thank Keywee for allowing me to use aspects of her story for Red's retelling of his past. Thank you very much! And to everyone else, please check 'The House That Jack Built' out.**

**Stay tuned for the second part of 'A Laughing Matter'!**


	4. A Laughing Matter Prt:2

Joker

Story Two: Gotham's Red Knight

Chapter Four: A Laughing Matter (Part Two)

**Salutations wonderful readers! How I enjoy knowing that you are enjoying my writing (or at least hope so). Just fair warning: after this second story is complete, I will be taking an extended break in order to finish off that damned novel. As much as I love writing it, for some reason, I love FanFiction better.**

**Part One ended quite quickly, so don't be surprised if this one speeds through in certain bits. Just like to thank my readers, reviewers (Keywee, MintierBadger and Nina Feliz), favourite-ers (Gideon Moriattis) and story followers (lolmak). I write for you. Please enjoy!**

* * *

_As we waited outside of the bank, it dawned on me that Jeannie had a performance on tonight. Conrad, the idiot, scheduled the robbery on the same damn day. I gave him a hell of a verbal berating, I can tell you that. Then I just focused on surviving the whole thing. We were both damn nervous, Conrad was shaking. I never saw him shake before. This was a man who killed people and he couldn't sit still. I tried to calm him down but then I wished I didn't 'cos that's when he brought out the mask. He was told to wear it for the heist, but it wouldn't fit so I had to put it on. It was practically a fishbowl; the glass distorted my facial features but also distorted my view of the world. I couldn't see a damn thing and it smelled of garlic. Conrad was told that it was some kind of calling card for the gang we were doing business with, but I knew better. It was so we could take the fall while they got off scott-free. By this point, I don't care if we survived, I was gonna kill Conrad. That thought soon left my mind as we charged through those front doors._

* * *

It was a hell of a chase! Jack was careening down the Gotham street, winding his way back to The Bowery in the hopes of losing the pursuers. Red was in the passenger's seat, reloading his revolver and firing out the side window. Behind him in the back seat were Hunt, Webber and Trent, all ducked down below the rear window as it was riddled with bullets. "Shit!" cursed Red as he emptied his chamber without hitting a single shooter. "What the hell did you guys do back there?!" he barked at the occupants of the back seat.

"They were waiting for us inside!" yelled Hunt over the fire as glass rained down on top of them. "How did they know we were coming?!" Trent moaned in pain as the car caused him to roll onto his gunshot wounds. After opening the office door, he had been directly in the line of fire. Two bullets passed through him as soon as the lock clicked open. "It's okay, I got ya." Hunt ripped off a piece of his jacket and pressed it down on the exposed flesh. Webber pulled a shotgun out from under the seat and fired out the rear, shooting out one of the tires of the Falcone car chasing them.

"Hunt and I dragged him outta there!" continued Webber, unloading a couple more shells. "Barlow stayed behind to provide cover! We don't know where he is!"

"He betrayed us!" screamed Hunt. Suddenly, the second car appeared out of a side street and parked right in their path. Jack swerved around to avoid them, clipping their front, knocking the car back into a lamp post.

"We'll have to ditch the car." Evaluated Red, realising that the pursuing cars would not lose them in the streets.

"No we won't." said Jack, making a sharp left turn into a tight alley between two buildings. It was such a sudden manoeuvre that the Falcone hit-men didn't have time to pull off the same stunt. The first car screamed left, trying to follow the Red Hoods, but crashed into one of the buildings instead with the second car crashing into it. Like Jack had said back at The Stacked Deck; he knew the city like the back of his hand. They soon arrived back at the hideout without another eventful encounter and quickly rushed Trent into the kitchen. Hillocks was rudely awoken by the wailing of Trent and quickly came down to operate. Hunt and Red began arguing and were both ordered furiously by Hillocks to leave. They continued in the bar.

"For God's sake, Red! Barlow is on the take from Falcone to keep an eye on us and he tipped them off!" argued Hunt, his voice breaking from the adrenaline.

"You don't know that." Stated Red, keeping his voice loud but not shouting.

"It looks sus' to me, boss." Said Webber, agreeing with Hunt. "I don't know, I'm just not a big believer in coincidence."

"We'll clear this up when-" but Hunt was already storming past Red towards the door. It wasn't to leave, but to confront Barlow who had just entered, cradling his bleeding side.

"Guys." He huffed at the men, but was cut off by Hunt.

"You son of a bitch!" Hunt punched Barlow squarely in the jaw, proceeding to fight him on a nearby table. Red and Webber hurried over and struggled to pull Hunt away. "Trent's gonna die because of you! You're working for The Roman!" he continued to shout. "Where the hell were you?!"

"I got away on foot! T-They thought I was dead!" explained Barlow quickly

"Yeah right!" spat Hunt. The fight would continue, but Jack would have no part in it. He knew that Barlow was innocent, otherwise he wouldn't have gone in the first place. The problem was that Hunt was too impulsive. Patience was a virtue in this world, and it had been a pro who taught him that.

* * *

_I can't remember much of the robbery myself, just that everybody seemed intimidated by me. I don't know why; I looked like a guy who slipped and landed inside a bowl that just got stuck on my head. As far as I remember, it was over quickly. We got the cash and ran out the back when the cops came a-knockin'. We climbed up onto the rooftops and used them as our escape, jumping from one to the other. By the time we stopped running, I realised that Jeannie's performance had already started, so I left the money and the fishbowl with Conrad and dashed across town. Needless to say, I missed the whole thing. Making excuses wasn't my strong point and they wouldn't have worked anyway; Jeannie saw that I wasn't in my usual seat in the front row. She and I had an argument and we went our separate ways. Stupid. I shouldn't have left her alone. Jeannie was a rich girl walking through the city without her bodyguard. By the time I found her, she had already been shot._

* * *

It was down in the basement with Essex that Jack went to think. Sometimes the suggestions from a mind that wasn't all there made more sense than coming from someone who was...sane. While to many of us who would gladly seek council from a man who understands the mind, Jack theorised that a man who spends most of his time inside his own would be far more likely to produce better solutions to his quarrels. Days would go by and Jack wouldn't emerge. By now, it had been quite a few hours, but Essex was the type of man who sounded interesting no matter what he was talking about. There was really only one subject that Essex wasn't exactly fluent in, and that was women; "Thought about doing her yet?" He asked, leaving little subtlety.

"What?!" Jack exclaimed through a laugh. "Well...yeah, but you can't take anything out of that. I mean, it's natural; men think about it and so do women. Doesn't necessarily mean that anything will come of it."

"You don't need a woman to make you happy, Jack. You got me!" Essex pulled Jack under his arm. "You've got chemistry! Cash!"

"Virginity!" Jack shouted back. Essex fixed him with a stern look.

"Virginity is not taken for granted enough. Look at me. I'm single, never had a girlfriend, never looked, never been laid! Sure, I fantasise, I wank on occasion, but I don't let my penis think for me." He pointed up at the ceiling. "Those people up there. Zed, Barlow, Hunt...they are influenced by hormones. It clouds judgement and makes you do stupid things." Essex, having proven his point, went to the ice box and grabbed himself another beer. Obviously by this time he was a little drunk.

"What about Red?" asked Jack. Essex seemed to sober up to this, straightening his back.

"Red's like me..." he began solemnly, "but he had to learn the hard way." Essex stared down at his beer, popping the cap off with his thumb. He didn't have the will to bring it to his mouth, not on this topic, so he changed the subject. "Since you're so insistent on getting with this girl, how's about you try to think about impressing her?"

"With what? Taking her on a heist?" scoffed Jack, gulping down some of his water.

"You could show her how well you sweep up the bar?" joked Essex. Jack threw an empty can of beans at him. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding. Look, just try to find something that is uniquely _**you**_. Not fast cars or guns or that shit. Anyone can speed, anyone can pull a trigger and from what you've told me, she doesn't seem the type to go for bad boys." Just at that moment, a loud uproar erupted above them in the bar. Jack stared up, wondering what the hell it was, but Essex answered that question; "Shut up! I hate it when that damned comedian decides to park his arse up there and bring the noise with him." It suddenly hit Jack like a ton of bricks. He knew how he would impress Marybeth. Without hesitating, he hurried up the stairs, much to the disappointment of Essex, and waited in the bar until Mr. Earlwright had finished his act. Throughout the performance, Jack was so nervous as to how he would address this man that he didn't even hear any of the new jokes. Soon, the audience had finished laughing and Barney left the stage, walking up the stairs to the private second floor bathroom. Jack followed, finding Barney washing his hands in a basin.

"Come in." he said, spying Jack in the mirror's reflection. "You're Red's boy, Jack, aren't you?" he smiled.

"Yes, sir."

"No, don't sir me. I'm only sixty-five and thirteen months." Barney smiled, drying his hands. Jack blushed, trying not to laugh. "What brings you here? I _**hope**_ it's not to see me take a leak?"

"No, sir-Barney." Corrected Jack.

"That's better."

"I wanted to know if you could teach me comedy."

"Ha!" burst Barney, walking into the small cubicle. Jack turned away as Barney did in fact take a leak. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, son, but comedy is not something to be taught. It can only be learned." Barney flushed, lightly washing his hands again, and returned to Jack. "What I mean by that is no teacher can explain how to acquire it. It is up to the student to find it for himself."

"So, you won't help me." Summarised Jack.

"No, I'll do my very best." Modified Barney. "I just want you to understand that it probably won't work. Now, you've got a funny shaped head, so that'll be a plus. Your voice isn't too bad either. What made you want to become a stand-up?" This, Jack did not want to answer, but he had to and truthfully too.

"I want to impress a girl." Jack answered. Earlwright sighed in response. "Is that bad?"

"Hmm? No, that's how I got into the business. Damn near ruined my life too, couldn't support my wife on a performer's salary-but enough about that." Stammered Barney. "Let's hear some of your material."

"Okay, well..." began Jack nervously.

"That's a good start for a speech on a financial recession, but we're talking about comedy." Inserted Earlwright. "Get on with the joke; your audience didn't pay to see you sweat."

"I was outside the other day!" yelled Jack, forcing himself to spit it out. "I was outside and all of a sudden, it started raining cats and dogs. It got so bad that I almost stepped in a poodle." He looked up at Barney who wasn't laughing. "P-Poodle. It's like 'puddle' but-"

"I got the joke, son, but it wasn't funny the first time I heard it." Deadpanned Barney, getting a small snort of laughter from Jack despite the harsh criticism. "Listen, don't try to explain it to me. Never do that, especially with an audience. It just sounds like you're insulting them. To cut a long story short: if you have to explain a joke, there _**is**_. _**No**_. _**Joke**_." Jack nodded. "Also, the material. It's old school. I'm talking older than I am. Okay? Freshen up. Some of the classics are good, but try to make them your own. Have intelligent jokes, but ones that are easy to understand. You can avoid explanations right there if you have smart, easy jokes 'cos you're always taking shots from folks who just don't get the joke. Trust me, I've burned out enough times to know."

"Okay, I'll try...but how do you come up with your material?" asked Jack.

"It's no big secret. I take events from my life and give them a humorous twist." Explained Barney. "It allows the audience to relate, y'see. That's how you reel 'em in and when they're caught, they're yours." Barney shrugged. "Now, it's up to you to learn for yourself. I'll be back this Friday. Will your girl be here?"

"Yes."

"Good. At the end of the show, I'll introduce you and you can take over."

"Wait! I can't go on stage!" protested Jack in panic. "I've never been in front of an audience before!"

"Don't you think she'll be impressed?" asked Barney. Jack didn't have to answer, he knew this man was right. Without another word, Barney Earlwright adopted his hat, coat and cane and swaggered out of the room.

* * *

_I sat outside her private room at Gotham General for the longest time. Her blood was still on my clothes by the time her mother arrived, immediately started shouting at me. Asking why I wasn't there. Phht! Like she cared. Adele Dupree hated her daughter, but I bit my tongue until Jeannie's boyfriend arrived. I had an argument with him about how he was never there and that I really cared about her. A few weeks later, when Jeannie and I bumped into each other on the street, I found out that they'd split up. Best thing of all; she wanted to get together with me. I tell you what, the next three days were...but it didn't last. She was offered a place in the Chicago Ballet and wanted to move. Well, you know my position with Sal. I couldn't just up-and-go like that. We had a fight and went our separate ways...again. It was the stupidest thing I have ever done. Unfortunately for the poor souls who died by my hand, I made their passing a little more...slow._

* * *

"Where's your pal Falcone hiding out?!" barked Hunt, holding a knife dangerously close to the eye of an already bloodied thug.

"I don't know!" he screamed, shivering with blood bubbles popping in his mouth. "I don't-I'm just hired help!"

"You think I'm stupid?!" Hunt kicked the man back in his chair, falling onto the floor; his hands tied behind him were crushed under his own weight. "Even if you don't know, I'm still going to open you up, so you might as well spill your guts for me!"

"But I-"

"We saw you that night." Stepped forward Webber, stone cold. "I remember your face. You were the one who shot my friend. Trent? Ring any bells?" The thug shook his head with great difficulty. "No? I bet he remembers you."

"Of course he does! The bastard shot him!" growled a hysteric Hunt.

"Ease up." Ordered Webber. He returned to the thug. "Now-what's your name?"

"F-Farrow." Choked the man.

"Farrow. I am the only one here who can keep Hunt from having some fun with ya. The only ones who will know what happened to you..." he made a circle with his finger, indicating himself, Hunt and Hammond standing in the corner, "is us three. If you tell us who the snitch is, then we'll not only spare your life but give you a head start from The Roman. Does that sound fair?" Farrow moaned in what appeared to be a reply.

"There is no informant." Gasped Farrow between each word.

"Bullshit!" cursed Hunt, raising his knife for a stabbing blow.

"No! No!" Farrow shielded himself. "I mean no one in your group! Falcone couldn't get to your men!" Hunt relaxed long enough for Farrow to continue. "It was Maroni!"

"Salvatore Maroni?" checked Hammond, finally taking a step closer. Farrow nodded at him.

"I swear on my wife and kid, it's him!" he pleaded. "Please, let me go! I'm sorry I shot your friend, but I told you everything I know!" Hammond nodded to Webber and Webber nodded to Hunt to stand down. Hunt however had a little extra in mind.

"Here's a little incentive so you don't come back." He hissed, cutting Farrow loose and holding down one of his hands. With a heavy thrust, Hunt plunged the knife into Farrow's right palm, cleaving the centre through and through, penetrating the floor beneath. Farrow let out a cry to the deafened world as the blade was twisted into his flesh. Slam!

"Let him go!" ordered the bellowing voice of Red, slamming the warehouse door shut. Hunt hesitated before withdrawing the knife and standing back. Farrow crawled to his feet, then shuffled his way through the door, not looking back and intent on keeping his promise of leaving this stinking city once and for all. When all was silent once more, Red turned on the others. "I believe I made it abundantly clear that there was to be _**no**_ retaliation."

"Yes, you did, but this was the only way we-" Red cut Hammond off.

"Then why in the wide hell are you retaliating?!" demanded Red. Only Hunt could look him squarely in the eyes.

"Listen, we couldn't just sit on our arses all day and watch Trent suffer!" Hunt argued back. "We had to find out who the nark was and we did! It was Mar-"

"_**I know**_!" confirmed Red, shocking Hunt. "What, do you think I can't put two and two together? Maroni was the only one who could have had any contact with Falcone who knew we would hit him back."

"Then why aren't we kicking down his doors and getting some questions answered?!"

"Because he's being forced into it!"

"Oh, and you're sure of that?" asked Hunt with a questionable glare that made Red loathe him even more. "Maybe the Maroni clan is merging with the Falcone's and this is their way of squeezing us out of the game so they can take over our operation! Huh? How do you _**know that**_?" Red pitied the man.

"You have no idea who they are, do you?" he replied calmly. "No idea with whom you are dealing." He strode up to Hunt who still had the bloodstained knife clenched tightly in his hand. The thought crossed his mind to use it as Red stopped before him and leant close to his ear. "Get out." He ordered. Hunt reluctantly obeyed, a little twitch in his right hand. "I expected better from you both." Red stated as soon as Hunt was outside.

"Listen, Red, we had to-" began Webber.

"Get out." He said, visibly containing himself. His head lowered, Webber followed Hunt into the car waiting outside. This time, Hammond prepared himself for a shouting match.

"Before you start with me-"

"What? I'm not going to argue with you." Said Red matter-of-fact-ly. "I just need you with me when I go meet Maroni."

"No, don't go see him." Insisted Hammond as Red led him to the warehouse door. "If he's crossed us once, then what if he'll do it again?" Hammond held the door shut. "What if Hunt is right about the merge?"

"Hey, you've known him longer than I have. Do you think the Falcone's would go against years of isolation to merge while they're at their strongest alone?" asked Red rhetorically. Hammond had to give him that one. The Falcone crime family was always proud and kept their business within the family. They'd probably be an incestuous lot if there were no other choice. Not a word was spoken as they returned to the pub that afternoon. It was about half an hour before the crowd would pour in but the whole gang was present, watching on as Hunt, Webber and Hammond trudged inside like three boys who had done something wrong.

"What's happening, Red?" asked Zed from the staircase.

"I'm going to talk to Maroni. He's the one who has been talking to Carmine." Explained Red. "If I can arrange an audience with all three of us tonight then maybe I can stop this bloody mess."

"That's all well and good, but what should _**we**_ do?" piped Hillocks by the kitchen door, wiping his hands.

"Just stay here." Ordered Red. "Keep your heads down. _**No**_ retaliation. How's Trent doing?"

"Should be up and about in no time." Hillocks replied.

"Good. Now, until we get back, nobody becomes a hero. This is no place for a hero." With one last stern look, Red exited through the front door, shadowed by Hammond. Everyone went their separate ways, whether it was back to playing cards, treating wounds, cleaning glasses, retreating upstairs or downstairs. Everyone except Jack. He felt out of place. The only thing that he really could think of doing was sitting at the bar and working on a good opening joke.

* * *

_A couple of months went by and I just had to take a break. I decided to travel back to Beaufort in North Carolina to see my old town. I hadn't been there since my father was alive. It was the last place I had seen Molly and, luckily, she came from her home in Summitville, Pennsylvania to join me in walking back through the past. The fishing village hadn't changed much. I mean, we'd only lived there a few years but the impression was everlasting. Molly and I caught up; she was married with kids. I even met up with a few of the tykes. It was so unbelievable; the feeling you get when you become an uncle. The strongest sensation I felt was when we visited our old house there. All the memories came flooding back; the fear, the pain and the sadness. I almost scoffed at the memory of me chasing dad down the driveway, asking if he was coming back. Of course, now I wish he didn't and by the end of the day, I think we both agreed that the place should be torn down. I'm not sure what's happened to it now, but I hope it's gone. Funny thing is, I wouldn't trade my experiences for the world..._

* * *

It was another dark, grubby room in the half-light, except this time the tables were turned. Red entered through the back door, out of the rain, and closed the door behind him, leaving Hammond outside along with another guard. Red surveyed the room which had only one square table where Maroni was seated under a dangling light bulb. He took a seat next to Maroni, his chair firmly pushed comfortably under the table to assert his position. "Maroni." Greeted Red.

"Mr. Hood." Returned Salvatore. Red turned to the darkness in front of him.

"Carmine." He said to the almost invisible figure standing there. Falcone walked into the light and sat opposite Red, barely regarding him at all. He didn't even greet Red. "How's your son? I bet he's become quite a chip off the old block." Again, no reply. "And how's old man Falcone? Still tending to that tomato garden of his?"

"Let's get on with this." Growled Carmine, not interested in discussing his father's personal life with the likes of Red.

"Well, first off," began Red, "I just want to know...why?" He turned to Maroni who could barely look into his eyes.

"Mr. Maroni is not at fault here." Carmine diverted. "From where I stand, you are."

"How so?"

"Think of it like this; a boss who runs a big national company with smaller chains as part of his empire. Now, imagine if you can, that this boss who works tirelessly to keep this big chain in link finds that somewhere down the line, one of his smaller companies is making more dough than he is...and reaping all the benefits that go with them."

"Whoa, whoa, wait. Since when does Maroni work for you?" asked Red. "I thought you were neutral with each other."

"Neutral?" Sniggered Carmine. "I _**own**_ this city...including your little Bowery. Maroni still keeps it because he's paying it forward and let me have you; the weak link. The one who's raking in too much cash."

"Then why don't you pull off a stint of your own and leave us be?!"

"Gotta be the only game in town, no other way." Falcone stated simply. "Can't have competition ruining the odds for me. Why did you have to go for Farrow? He was my best guy." Red's eyes widened.

"What did you do to him?"

"Let's just say that he never made it out of Gotham," grinned Carmine deviously, "but he found a new home in the foundations of this city."

"Sal, do something." Insisted Red.

"Sorry kid, you're on your own." Maroni slumped back in his chair. He felt defeated. If he could help Red, he would, but there was nothing he could do. "My hands are tied."

"Tell you what, Red." Falcone lit up a cigarette, not a care in the world. "I can see you're reasonable. You came in here hoping to talk this through, I respect that. I'll let you keep your sweet deal, free of charge, except I want a few of your cards in the police department. Now, I know you're not gonna part with someone as influential as that Commissioner, so be thankful I'm being generous enough not to ask."

"Generous?!" barked Red. "Carmine, I don't think you know-"  
"No! I don't think _**you**_ know who you're dealing with!" snapped Falcone, but Red didn't back down as they both stood.

"Don't you forget that mob bosses are my specialty!" Falcone stepped back. "How quick you are to remember. I am not letting any of them go, and don't think I won't fight for them." Falcone had to think for a moment, regaining his stature. At least, that's how it appeared to Red. There was still something in the corner of his eye that frightened Red; the upper hand. From his coat pocket, Falcone pulled a detonator. Maroni stumbled back out of his seat and backed up against the wall, but Red knew better. Falcone was not foolish enough to blow himself up.

"Carmine! Are you crazy?! You'll kill us all!" spluttered Maroni in a fit of panic but Falcone just shook his head.

"Ah, quit blowin' this out of proportion." He teased menacingly, waving the detonator in the air. "I knew you would be stubborn, Red, but I tried not to underestimate you. No doubt you've planned some sort of counter-attack to come and force me to leave you all alone."

"No." sighed Red. "No I did not."

"Hmm." Hummed Falcone, half pouting. "I'm a little disappointed..." Red closed his eyes, "but all the targets are in one place." Red's eyes snapped open.

"Don't you dare destroy Red Hood." Ordered Red sternly, pointing at Carmine.

"Destroy? I'm gonna steal it from you and take over the operation myself. You should have been a little more co-operative with me. Both of ya."  
"Me?!" squealed Maroni. "But I-"

"Shut up!" Falcone spat and Maroni obeyed well. "You should have given me what I wanted, Red. Now, I'm gonna have to get my men to blow up your little bar with your henchmen inside." Red didn't have to listen to this. He walked towards the door, he had to get back and warn them but Falcone's whistle called in his own henchmen. Half a dozen of his men burst through the door, one with Hammond under his arm, another with Maroni's henchman, but all carrying enough firepower to see nobody made it out of that room alive. Hammond was thrown into Red who steadied his friend.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, just a little bump is all." Croaked Hammond, rubbing his skull. "Haven't these people heard o' a light tap on the shoulder?" Slam! One of Falcone's men placed a phone on the table, allowing Carmine to immediately make a call.

"What are you doing? This is monstrous!" shouted Maroni.

"I'm doing what the mob does, Sal." Dialled Falcone. "If you can't handle the game, I suggest you head for the coast-Oh wait, you can't. I _**own**_ the freaking coast! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm giving the word to have this punk's base of operations blown to hell!" Down the phone line, the orders went, carried to a man standing on the street corner opposite The Stacked Deck. As he hoped, they were not the orders to leave, but to plant the explosives around the building. After hanging up, he signalled his four men in the car to begin doing so while he sat back and waited for the fireworks to begin.

* * *

Inside the bar, the whole gang sat and waited. For anything. Nothing moved. Dust barely dared to fall from the ceiling and collect on the floor. The only thing that startled them was the crash from the basement door. "All right!" barked Essex madly, causing the pub to jump. "Who the hell stole some tear gas canisters?! Come on! I know it is one of you!"

"Whoa, Ess, calm down." Shushed Zed.

"Don't you 'Ess' me, _**Z**_!" shot back Essex. "You know the situation as well as I do and Red cannot get this all to blow over if any of us starts causing trouble! This kind of act is cowardly and wrong!"

"Cowardly?!" questioned Hunt, walking down the stairs with several guns strapped to him including a belt full of canisters. "Wrong?!" He walked straight up to Essex's face. "If you had spent one minute out of your little hole during everything we've had to go through this week, then you would surely understand that what I am about to do is right."

"You can't justify killing!"

"Says the man who makes chemicals for the job." Hunt didn't need to take advice from Essex. He started walking towards the door but Barlow grabbed his arm.

"Hunt, you can't-" but Hunt pulled himself from Barlow's grip.

"Don't tell me what to do." He hissed, continuing on his way. "You may not be one of Falcone's men, but I still don't trust you." Suddenly, Hillocks blocked the door.

"I can't let you go out there, son." He said bravely. Hunt took the butt of his machine gun and dug it into Hillocks' gut, then sent another blow into his face. Hillocks just fell aside, bloody faced and limp, and Hunt stepped right over him and through the door. Jack rushed to Hillocks' side, putting pressure on the bleeding gash across his forehead.

"You okay?" Jack queried breathlessly.

"Fine. I'll deal with this." Grumbled Hillocks. He pointed to Barlow. "You go after him. Make sure he doesn't screw everything up more than it already-" but Barlow didn't hear another word. He was already out the door and running after Hunt. It was so dark and he was so distracted by his mission that the man at the payphone across the street went unnoticed. The man eyed them suspiciously, considering whether or not to call it in. They had after all exited from the same bar that his men were trying to blow up. Should Falcone worry? About two men? What kind of an assault would they make, especially since their boss was in the hands of Carmine Falcone. No. At the moment, they were harmless enough, just as long as a large portion of their group went up in flames, any form of vengeful confrontation would appear futile. However, when Barlow caught up with Hunt several blocks away, a confrontation broke out.

"You turn your skinny white arse around!" ordered Barlow, holding Hunt by the shoulder. "Do it or-" Bam! Hunt swung around and clocked Barlow right on the jaw. He got so carried away by wanting to exact his violence upon Barlow, that he dropped his equipment just to have a punch-up. Barlow was up against the wall, his gut being beaten to a pulp. His ribs felt like they were on fire. Luckily, a quick knee to Hunt's waist knocked him back. There was no way this fight would be a clean one. As his opponent tried to regain his balance, Barlow went to grab him by the hair but Hunt was much too quick; grabbing Barlow's belt and swinging him into a parked car. The alarms blared but not a soul left the buildings around them. Barlow carried on Hunt's swing, forcing Hunt to crash into the passenger window. Hunt did the same and threw Barlow onto the bonnet of the car. They sent punches each other's way and attempted to get a hold on each other. In the end, Barlow flipped Hunt onto his back, knocking his head into the bonnet, making him dizzy. Barlow ripped the driver side mirror off and used it to knock out Hunt. When he was sure Hunt wouldn't fight back, Barlow let himself flop onto his back and catch his breath. Wiping the blood from his nose, he really hoped that Red was having more luck than he was. At that moment, outside The Stacked Deck, four figures emerged from around the outside of the building. They ran across the street and hopped inside a dark sedan. Their fifth man at the payphone made a call that connected with Carmine Falcone.

"Good." He smiled, hanging up the receiver. Red sighed. "Looks like your time is up. It's a shame you didn't consider my offer. We could have owned this city." Red remained stout and speechless. "Oh well."

"Stop!" Red shouted just as Falcone made to push the little red button. Falcone's guards were so startled by Red's outburst that they aimed their guns directly at him. "All right." Everyone remained quiet. "I'll give you Loeb." Even Falcone couldn't believe those words. He slowly lowered the detonator, keeping his thumb hovering over the button.

"I already said that Commissioner Loeb didn't have to be part of the deal." Carmine said. "Why?"

"Call it an extra bonus." Suggested Red. Hammond didn't like this, but at least it was better than getting shot. "I have only one condition: that you never interfere with our affairs ever again. Only my team knows how to run the show. Anyone else would mess it up. We do a job, you get a ten percent cut and that's _**all**_. Do you understand, Mr. Falcone?"

Carmine chewed over the decision before asking; "How do I know you'll come through with your offer?" Red shrugged.

"No investments are without risk, Carmine. That's how you play the game. But I can't help you win if you don't make a little call." Red hoped that it would work. It should; he'd just handed over Commissioner Loeb to the Falcone crime family. The only real bluff here was getting Carmine to believe that only Red and his men could pull off something as complex as Red Hood. Anyone with the right mindset could do it, but he prayed that Falcone would believe otherwise. He waited as Falcone made up his mind, his eyes shifting between the phone and the detonator.

* * *

_I tell you what, Beaufort was beautiful though. Went back to some of my old haunts and found a young love of mine; Leslie Fisher. I say 'love', it was more on her side than mine. It became a little obsessive and she had a bit of a troubled time after I left for Gotham. When we met up again, things were a little frosty, but I soon found myself falling for her. She was what I had been looking for in a woman; smart, creative and she loved me for who I was. That was something I had been missing with Jeannie. It was good to see it in this lovely woman. After a few days, the relationship became really serious. We decided to dive head first into it and move in with each other. But that kind of decision was something we weren't prepared for. On one hand, I had a life in Gotham City. My own place, a world I knew very well, not to mention Sal would break my legs in if I left so suddenly. On the other hand, Leslie had the same...problems? No, that's not right. She had made a life for herself here but she wanted me there in case we decided to have a larger family. I wasn't too sure if I were ready for that. Gee, now that I think about it, that was probably almost one of the hardest decisions of my life. Imagine what it would have turned out as if I had made that decision..._

* * *

"Nervous, Jack?" Red asked.

"No." replied an obviously nervous Jack. "You?" he asked before realising how stupid it was. Red wasn't about to walk out on stage.

"I'm fine." Red and Jack had an uncomfortable silence. Not even the noise created by Barney Earlwright's swansong performance could penetrate their ears. "Listen, I want you to understand why I did what I did."

"You did it to save us."

"Yes...but I also want you to know how." Red looked Jack straight in the eyes. "Think of it as a life lesson. Let me ask you a question first: do you think it was smart of me to give Falcone Commissioner Loeb?"

"No." answered Jack.

"Mmm hmm. Would you rather I gave him a few cops instead?"

"Yes. Loeb controls the cops, ergo you still control Falcone."

"That is true, but the way I see it is; it's better to own the bullets than the gun." Red turned back to the stage. Jack understood now. A man is only as good as the people who work for him. If he has no control over them, then who knows what they are capable of. Desperate people. "Did Barlow and Hunt explain how they got those scars?" asked Red, changing the subject. Jack nodded. "Cheating in a game of poker. I'll believe that." Sarcastically remarked Red, but he would rather believe that than the truth.

"Some people just don't understand how old I am." Drifted the voice of Barney from the stage. This was the beginning of his last joke, after which he would introduce Jack.

"I'll see you on stage. Break a leg." Wished Red, patting Jack on the back as he went into the bar to find a seat.

"I was propositioned by a prostitute just the other night," continued Barney, "and she said; 'Hey stud, you want me to help you find your youth?'. And I said to her; 'Lady, I'd pay you to help me find my teeth in the morning. That'll save me an hour and a half.'" The uproar was huge, receiving applause all around. "And speaking of late, I better haul my butt off the stage. My hearse is double parked outside and I hate to keep them waiting. Before I go, I have to introduce to you a young rising talent in the field of comedy." Oh God, he was building Jack up. "In preparation and dedication for a routine made out to a special young lady in our audience tonight, his material will have you rolling in stitches." Please stop building! Please stop! "I give you Jack!" Jack swallowed as the pub cheered for his entrance. A frog was about to leap up his throat and make it on stage before he did. When the stage lights hit him, the world around him darkened. It seemed he was the only one in the room, he would have thought so if it weren't for the distinct sounds of Trent whooping in the foreground.

"Yeah Jack!" he shouted, cooing over the others. Jack squinted and spotted Marybeth in her seat just through the beams of light. Where anyone else would have frozen in their spot and been unable to move at the sight of their love watching them, the sight of Marybeth gave Jack a certain upbeat quality.

"All right, are you ready for some comedy?!" he called. The audience screamed out different forms of 'yes'. "Firstly, I would like to thank Barney Earlwright for that lovely introduction! Lovely man for that matter. First time I met him, he was taking a leak." For the first time, Jack heard and felt the sweet power of laughter. It filled him up and made him feel powerful. "I should probably get a move on to my first joke of the night. You'll forgive me if I misfire, promise I won't say; 'I swear, this has never happened to me before!'" Once again, more laughter. Jack could see Marybeth in a fit of joy but with her eyes focused directly on him. All his hopes lay on this first joke to seal the deal. He knew it would; it was the best one he could think of; "So, there were these two guys in a lunatic asylum..."

* * *

_I was close to making a decision when, from out of the blue, I got a phone call from Jeannie. She was coming back to Gotham. Her plans at the Chicago ballet had fallen through due to some unforeseen circumstances. The way she told me when we met up at my apartment was; she had gone to Chicago after our row and had spent several months training with them. It was about a few weeks ago that she started feeling sick. She went to a doctor and he said that Jeannie was pregnant...and that Jeannie knew that I was the only one who could have been the father. This came from so far out of left field. I was just stuck. Here I was; a hitman from the bad side of town with a baby on the way, a mother who I didn't know if she loved me and a real relationship on the outside that meant everything. How I managed to keep my brain from exploding, I will never know. All I knew was that it was either Jeannie and the baby or Marybeth and a new life. Could I even bring a baby into this world with the idea that one day I had to tell it that I kill people for a living? To pay for its heat and shelter? For better or for worse, I still loved Jeannie and I didn't not want to raise my child. Marybeth and I never spoke again. What was supposed to be a blessed day, I married Jeannie at the courthouse. We would be a family. I would do my best to make it that way, somehow..._

* * *

'**A Laughing Matter' comes to an end, but the fifth chapter should be up soon! Please review if you enjoyed it, or PM me. Especially if you haven't before. I would really love to know what you think of the story so far and to get to know you better.**

**I am trying to get myself a copy of Batman: Year One for my research (as well as several others set around this time). I'm really enjoying the Bat-verse and bringing sense to chaos. Or is it the other way around? I can never tell!**

**You should now go check out Keywee's own Joker Origin story: The House That Jack Built. I know I've advertised it over and over, but she's a fantastic writer and the story is so good that I had to include aspects of it in mine. Go read it and stay tuned for the next chapter!**


	5. Between A Rock And A Hard Place

Joker

Story Two: Gotham's Red Knight

Chapter Five: Between A Rock And A Hard Place

**Here we go again! This is a different chapter than the rest, and features a little known or remembered fact about The Joker's past. It seemed right to include this little nod to the past and it made for an excellent chapter story. **

**This was originally just one long chapter, but since I have only written the first half, I decided you should all get it sooner rather than later. It was bothering me that I hadn't uploaded anything anyway, so everyone's a winner. **

**Thanks to you readers, reviewers and followers for your continued support. I'm glad you are all enjoying this story as much (or more) as I am writing it! See you at the end, but until then, have fun reading!**

* * *

_Supporting your wife and unborn child in a city like this is...well, I was gonna say 'daunting', but that doesn't quite cover it. You can't really feel bad for wishing your kid will never see the light of day. I'm sure the best of us have thought the same. But, man oh man, did I work my arse off. I had Valestra sending me on job after job, hit after hit. At least Sal finally saw my potential and brought me up a little higher in the chain. In terms of payment, at least. That's how I first met Hammond. Man, he was a young bastard back then. His connections made Sal quite powerful in his day, but we hit it off and became good friends. Home front; I had to refurnish our crummy little apartment so it would be child friendly. In the end, I think we just gave up-there was no way in hell that we would ever get that apartment to be baby-proof! No offence to Mrs Burkiss, our landlord, but that place was just falling apart so much, it wasn't safe for an adult to be living there. Those first few months, despite the bad, were actually some of the best days of my life. The extra jobs with Conrad and his 'mates' helped to rake in a little extra cash which made life a little easier, just so long as Valestra didn't know. Everything was going great...until the order came in._

* * *

This job was important. It had been months since a substantial mark could be found and there was no way the Red Hood Gang was going to pass this one up. This would be a simple in-and-out scenario; an electronics chain funded by Wayne Enterprises was the target. Every month, they would get their funds in cash delivered and stored in a safe on-site. Electronic security made the owners arrogant enough to think that no one would be able to break in. They didn't bargain one of their own to hand over the access codes and floor plans. That's what you deserve when you don't reward the hard work of the everyday man and woman. With his best men on the job and information in hand, Red was allowing himself to feel a little relaxed and relieved that this job had come his way. "Don't you think it's a little _**too**_ easy?" asked Jack, causing Red to stir from his sleeping position in the passenger's seat.

"What do you mean?" Red sighed, sitting properly in the chair. He had been dozing off for a moment and now felt a little tired.

"Well, _**this**_ job _**right**_ now when we need it most, comes along with all the bells and whistles. Don't tell me you don't smell something bad under your nose...and I don't mean the carpet."

"You're not a big believer in coincidence, are ya, Jack?" smiled Red.

"You're not a big believer in pre-planned scenarios, are ya, Red?" sneered Jack. "Well, what can I say? I see a pattern here and you lot have been too ecstatic to notice."

"Jack-" Red tried to stop Jack there.

"No-listen for a moment!"

"Okay! Okay."

"We've had three full months without a job. No job, nothing. That has _**never**_ happened before, and, to me, it seems unlikely that not one single person has had a bad rap with their job."

"Your point being?"

"_**Everyone**_ hates their job!" exclaimed Jack, making his point. "Everyone in this city doesn't get what they deserve and they come to us. Now-as far as I know-that hasn't changed, so why is no one coming to us? You wanna know why?"

"No, but I suspect you'll tell me." Red let his head fall back, at least trying to fall asleep.

"Because someone has been _**diverting**_ them from us. Taking away our livelihood. That's what I think."

"Hmm, well, it would make a great story, Jack," began Red, "but to what end would this grand scheme try to reach?" Jack had to think about that.

"...I don't know. S-something."

"Something, right. You do realise that this is all just speculation." Asserted Red. "I mean, what kind of a plan is that? Cut off our income only to give it back to us? Even I think that's a little weak."

"All right, all right. You've made your point." Conceded Jack. "How's about this theory; a young boy..."

"Mmm hmm?"

"...who has spent most of his life watching, learning and living the life you lead."

"Uh huh?"

"Said boy is now old enough to take part in the life..."

"Yeah?"

"...but father figure, after all this time, doesn't want this boy, now a man, to finally prove his salt." Jack paused. "Does that sound familiar to you?"

"...Not at all." Blocked Red, turning to face the window.

"Come on! You know how much I've wanted to go in. I told you before this one that I could help out on the inside and you shot me down. Why?"

"You're a bright boy, Jack, but you need to learn some things for yourself as you grow up." Stated Red.

"I'm not a boy anymore." Glared Jack. He felt insulted that Red would not just tell him what it was. Why Red didn't want Jack to go on the missions. As it turned out, that was not the case at all.

"It's not that I don't want you to go." Said Red, turning back to his ward. "You're right, you're not a kid. You're a man. What you need to do is make up your own mind." Jack could see where he was going with this. "Adults need to make decisions in life and they don't have someone to ask if they can do these things or to rely on someone to always be there to guide them. A lot of kids in this city need to grow up quick, Jack. Most don't have the luxury of having a guide. You're lucky. You've had all of us to look out for ya. What you haven't thought about is the day we are no longer here. Are you gonna fall because I'm not here to give you the 'okay'? Or are you ready to make your own path?" Red left the question hanging in front of Jack like a horrible picture of what you look like during the life-saving surgery you are about to undergo. Free will was a funny concept to Jack. Unlike many people, Jack could look at it objectively rather than emote over its worth. To him, it was the kind of thing everybody needs; their own minds, free to make their own decisions without the need to ask permission. On the other hand, the freedom it provided felt cold, lonely, scary even. It was like being given the control panel to life without labels on any of the buttons. What was he to do with himself? The decisions were so vastly possible and impossible to make. Jack's train of thought was interrupted by Red's hissed exclamation of; "Why the hell haven't they radioed in?!" He picked up the walkie talkie and held it to his mouth. "Hunt? Everything going fine in there?" Nothing. "Hunt? Zed, you there?" Still nothing. Red clipped the radio to his belt. "God damn it!"

"Where are you going?" Jack asked as Red hopped out of the car.

"Just checking up on things. You stay put." Red answered quickly, closing the door. He let a car pass in front of him before crossing the road, holding his trench coat closed firmly around him. It was a very cold night. The front entrance was still unlocked from the break-in, and all he had to do was follow the path of open doors until he reached the area, he recalled, was where the accounts department was. As he reached the main office, he could hear voices through the sliver of room visible between the door and its frame.

"You had the job of back-checking. Why didn't you see this coming?" grumbled Hunt, annoyed at something.

"I did!" assured Zed heatedly. "They must've covered their tracks well."

"Another way for saying you screwed up!"

"Shut up!"

"Both of ya keep your faces shut or I'll slam your heads in this safe!" That voice belonged to their informant. He was a burly bloke, quite tall and blonde. Why the hell was he being so pushy?

"So, what's the plan?" queried a cool Webber. "You gonna interrogate us here or steal what cash we've got and buy yourself a donut?"

"We'll see whose telling jokes when backup arrives." Sneered the inform-Wait. Backup? Red peeked inside the main office and saw, to his fright and annoyance, mainly annoyance, Hunt, Zed and Webber on their knees with their informant standing over them holding a gun. If only it had been as simple as the inside man wanting the whole share; this man was a cop. But what in hell, thought Red, was a cop doing arresting the right people? That didn't matter right now. All that did was getting his men out of this mess and fast. More police were on the way and would be arriving any minute. As it so happened, at that very second, Jack caught a glimpse of red and blue flashing lights converging on both sides of the street. Panic struck, fear rose and an endless stream of questions ran through Jack. In a fit of hope, he turned to ask what to do, but was met with a chilly silence and empty space. He had to make a decision before the police spotted him and make it fast. He ducked down, keeping his head below window level. He waited and listened as the flashing lights stopped outside, the cars screeching to a halt and several doors slamming as a dozen cops jumped from their vehicles. They made a perimeter around the building, weapons drawn.

"This is Sergeant Max Cort of the GCPD!" rang the voice of one of the cops over the megaphone. Several windows in the surrounding buildings began to fill with faces of the people living within, curiously watching the scene. "Red Hood and associates, come out of the building with Lieutenant Flass cooperatively and there will be no trouble!"

"There's the cavalry." Smiled Flass as he heard the message blare through the building. "You all stay here and be quiet." Flass walked towards the door.

"What? You gonna show off your catch to the boys?" snarled Hunt.

"Try not to speak. I'd hate to have to make up a story in my report about why I had to put you down." Flass left the three men and entered the hallway, passing the other office-BAM! The door to Flass' left swung open and knocked him back, clean off his feet. His shaken form fell back into the main office, slamming his head into the far wall. Red charged in, pulling Flass' skull back by the hairs and punching his radio into his face until he was satisfied the cop wasn't conscious any longer. Throwing Flass' limp husk to the floor, Red, catching his breath, trudged to the three captives and began cutting their plastic restraints.

"I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this job." He said, freeing Hunt and Zed.

"Meh, I still think we're in it with a chance." Groaned Zed, massaging the red rings around his wrists. Hunt loomed over the unconscious body of Flass menacingly, like a monster over a sleeping child.

"Scum." He said simply, pausing to consider this man. Then he started kicking the defenceless man in the gut. "Don't! Ever! Threaten! Me!"

"Hey!" yelled Webber, forcing Hunt to turn around and show off his hysterical gaze. His hand shot into his pocket, reaching for the small knife inside.

"No." sternly ordered Red. Hunt's eyes moved to his leader.

"I was gonna use it on the cop-"

"I know what you are going to do and I said 'no'." growled Red threateningly. "We don't do that." After much internal conflict, Hunt submitted and withdrew his hand.

"Should we leave the dough?" asked Zed, standing by the open safe.

"We've gone through too much to. Bag it."

* * *

_Valestra sprung it on me so suddenly, that the fact that I knew it was coming no longer mattered. The day was here and it was my job. He didn't trust me to pull it off, it was more strategic than anything else. I knew Rene Dupree personally; I was married to his daughter. He wouldn't suspect his son-in-law to be up to no good. By now, Rene was so near vegetative state that it wouldn't have been considered murder by most medical students. 'A mercy killing' is how it was put to me. This man who had allowed me his daughter's hand in marriage, the same woman who was months away from giving birth to his first grandson. There would be no reason, no way this old man could see this coming, and when he did, it would be too late to escape. The employer who wanted it done had provided a date and time when Rene would be at his most vulnerable in his own house. When I asked who this person was, Valestra shot me down. I didn't need his answer, I already had a good idea who would be so cold heartedly yet intimately aware of Rene's movements. So, Adele Dupree had sunk to a new low and her ultimate scheme would reach an ironic conclusion with me as triggerman. I didn't say a word to Jeannie. I tried. Believe me, I tried..._

* * *

"They're coming out the side!" Bang! Bang! The cops in the side street opened fire, forcing Webber to recoil back inside the storage area. Their bid to escape via the fire escape proved increasingly unlikely by the second.

"I could've reached the ladder...if those _**arseholes**_ hadn't shot at me!" he roared so that he knew the police could hear him. "Want me to try again?"

"Forget it; they're moving down the lane." Zed closed the door and locked it. "Help me with that, would ya?" He asked Webber who helped him slide a heavy shelf in front of the door.

"We can't go quietly." Insisted Hunt. "If they get hold of us then the gang is most likely done for."

"We just need to get to the car." Surmised Zed. "But how the hell do we get there?"

"Fight our way out." Said Hunt.

"I meant in one piece." Zed deadpanned, but was hushed by Red.

"No, no. He's right." He agreed, much to the shock of everyone. "C'mon." Red led them into the foyer and behind the cashier counters. The whole front of the building was made of glass and there, just beyond the waiting police cars, sat the getaway car. "We just need Jack to come to us." Said Red.

"He'll need some kind of a big signal." Thought Webber, but they all knew what to do. All at once, they rose from behind the counter, much to the surprise of the police outside, and opened fire. The noise was deafening, even from across the street. Jack poked his head up to peer out through the window. Several cops were cut down, most were only wounded, cowering and cursing behind cover. The glass front had been turned into a giant spider's web of bullet holes but through it all he saw his three friends and Hunt. He had to rescue them, but his timing had to be just right. In the midst of all the confusion, Red was struck in the arm, Webber was scraped on the head and Zed sat hunched under the desk with his fingers in his ears. It was times like this that he wished he had more than just a crummy little pistol. Hunt seemed to be enjoying this far too much, becoming all the more ecstatic when he found a bullet hole in his shirt collar.

"Down!" shouted Red, all retreating down to Zed's level.

"Is it over?" asked Zed, fingers still in ears and only one eye open.

"Either way." Answered Webber. They could hear the crash in the storage room as the police attempted to break down the side door in a flanking move. Hunt tried to pick off the cops coming through the front, with a few finding suitable cover to prevent their escape. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light from outside, the screech of tyres, and a sedan rammed through the front doors, knocking aside police, stands and shelves and coming to a halt in front of the desk.

"Come on!" called Jack, opening up the passenger door. The four men climbed over the counter, Hunt pushing Zed into the passenger's seat. He and Webber knocked out the police stirring under the rubble to help make a clean getaway. Red threw them the bags of money on the counter before heading for the car. Crack! Red was tackled into the front of the car by a bloody faced Flass, his hands wrapping themselves around his neck. Red shot Jack a firm look.

"Drive!" he choked. Jack threw the car into reverse, backing it out of the store and swinging it into the street, scraping paddy wagons and throwing the two men off the hood and onto the street. Red struggled, rolling over and pinning Flass to the ground. He looked over at the car. "Go-" The order had barely left his mouth when Flass sent a heavy punch into Red's jaw, knocking him to the pavement. On the other side of the street, the police, having heard the commotion out front, were pouring out of the lane, their weapons already drawn. Jack accelerated down the street, turning off the lights, and into darkness.

"Let them go!" growled Flass as several cops ran to their cars. Only a few looked at him with a questioning stare, Cort among them, but their confusion fled as they saw Flass' quarry in a daze on the ground. As the rain began to fall and darkness engulfed them, only flashes of lightning illuminated the sorry figure in a pool of running maroon water. Red was so dizzy that he felt sick. His face hurt, his jaw didn't feel like it was there and he wanted nothing more than to pass out. Flass was not so obliging. He stuck his thumb into the bullet wound in Red's arm, digging it in. "Can't hide in a mask now, eh, Red Hood?" After one last final squeeze, Flass stood, drew his pistol and shot Red in the side of the stomach. "That's for my face."

* * *

The front door swung open lazily as the four figures trudged inside and out of the downpour. Everybody inside rose and stared at the sight before them; a most obvious picture of defeat. Essex went to examine the scrape along Webber's head but was ushered away. "No, doc. I can take care of..." he drifted off, head tilted down but not for the sake of his injury. Zed sat down at the poker table by Trent and Barlow, not wanting or able to speak. Hunt stomped behind the bar and poured himself a glass of bourbon, gulping it down and starting on a second.

"You gonna save some for us?" asked Hammond, sitting at the counter on his regular stool. Hunt fixed him with a wincing glare, his mouth contorted with the taste of the second glass.

"Hmm." He laughed with his mouthful before swallowing it down. "Yeah. Funny, you know?" Slam! He punched the table, breaking the smooth wooden top before kicking in a section of empty shelves below. Barlow stood, ready to bring Hunt down should he go on a rampage, but the man just leant against the bar, his arms folded and face pressed between them. He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes.

"Red knew what he was doing." Muttered Zed. "We did everything we could."

"Yeah. Yeah." Breathed Hunt. His eyes rolled to Jack, standing in front of the door, dripping wet. Hunt stood up straight and grabbed the bourbon bottle off the counter. "You did good, Jack." He said with real praise. "Did your best, couldn't have asked any more of you. Red would be proud." Hunt rounded the bar, taking a large swig of alcohol before adding; "If Red had let me cut that guy...maybe he'd have stood a chance." And with that, Hunt walked the stairs up to the second floor.

"That guy's got a real fetish," began Trent, "for cuttin' a hole in a person's hand. Hope that's not the first sign of a psychopath."

* * *

_I can't tell you how long I sat in my car just staring at that mansion of his. Even the room he was supposed to be in had a bright flickering light emanating from its window, like a beacon for anybody who was game enough to carry out this awful deed. I'd only ever had to kill one other person I knew and it felt awful then too, but nothing like this. This guy betrayed Sal by working for another group and Sal wanted him dead. You could see the horror in this guy's eyes as he plead for his life. He just wanted us to let him go. He didn't want to be killed by a friend...and I guess, in the end, I didn't want that either. I didn't want Jeannie to become just another body splashed all over the front page of a newspaper after being dragged from the river. The horror of the reader when they read she was with child. My child. I didn't want to put them in that situation. Here I was, no better than my old friend; I'd already betrayed Sal many times. I just had the sense to keep it from him. There was no other choice. Man, I felt so old as I heaved myself out of that car and down the driveway towards the house. With every step, I considered another alternative; let Rene run, go shoot Sal, put Jeannie and myself out of our misery before we regretted living. There was no alternative. In hindsight, it would have helped if I'd just shot Adele the moment she opened the door..._

* * *

It had been such a long, horrible day. It was obvious to Jack that money, despite its worth in the world, could not always buy you out of all your problems. Lawyers were a prime example of that, especially this one that had been appointed to Red's defence. He could barely stand up to the shining image of the Assistant District Attorney who turned phrases and exemplified his evidence to the point where even Red's lawyer whispered; "Don't expect this to end well." Where did this man learn his trade? Since when does a hot-shot lawyer not remotely live up to and beyond the stature of a government-appointed prosecutor? Weren't those types of officials supposed to be boring and unimaginative? Harvey Dent composed the whole damned room without showing the least bit of fear that, in this town, the prosecutor more often than not gets shot in court. The jury were eating the truth right out of the palm of his hand, and yet, Jack couldn't help noticing, there was a hint of disappointment hidden behind Dent's eyes. It didn't matter now; the case was open and shut from the get-go. This was but a short break before the jurors returned to deliver their verdict. So much for money! You'd might as well plead insanity. "How are you holding up, boy?" grumbled the voice of Commissioner Loeb, hands in pockets, stopping by the bench Jack was seated on.

"Strong." Stated Jack emotionlessly. He just wanted to get straight to the point; "Why can't you help him?"

"Red's no longer in charge." He answered politically. It sounded more like an excuse than anything else. "And besides, I'm already under review. If I were to be seen as too lenient towards a criminal as devious as him, then I wouldn't be here to stop Falcone from wiping Red Hood off the face of the Earth."

"Red is the only one keeping Red Hood on the face of the Earth!" argued Jack in a hushed voice. "You and he used to be friends, Gil." Loeb sighed and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but you're on your own." He wasn't even committed to his words, as though afraid anyone might be listening. "I'll see you around, kid." Loeb turned and walked straight out of the courthouse. Ever since he was made to sit under Falcone's thumb, Commissioner Loeb had been avoiding Red at all costs. No one blamed him. No one envied him either. Just then, on the other side of the hall across from Jack, the Assistant District Attorney exited the lavatory, wiping his hands with, what appeared to be, a piece of paper. Despite the fact that his hands were already dried, the paper wouldn't have helped much if they weren't anyhow. What was so odd about this appearance, however, was Dent checking the halls as if trying to see if the coast was clear. He didn't even bother to glance at Jack, doing so rather strategically, as it seemed. Then, he crossed the hall and threw the paper at Jack's feet before entering the courtroom before he could be questioned. Jack hesitated, staring down at the crumpled sheet on the floor. He snatched it up, unfolding and unwrinkling as much as possible, to find a message scribbled on the inside in red handwriting. It said;

_Jury will convict._

_Meet here afterward._

_Come __alone__._

Jack didn't have time to wonder what this note entailed. Already, he could see several officials headed this way, so he tore it up, walked into the empty men's bathroom and flushed the pieces. What the hell would Dent want to talk about? He wasn't the type to gloat and surely an Assistant District Attorney of his calibre didn't want to suddenly turn stoogie on one of the biggest convictions of his career. Something was afoot but Jack didn't let on. Not in his expression or his character. Not showing any sign when he entered the court and sat in the practically empty public gallery. No one had showed for the trial, no members of the city or the press; the courts had already convicted the Red Hood several times before and had gotten it wrong. Obviously, confidence that this was _**the**_ Red Hood was not high. Even so, no one had noticed Jack watching the proceedings and, despite the lack of public interest, the presiding judge was by no means taking this case lightly. Red kept his calm though; didn't even once look back to give Jack a comforting nod or sympathetic smile. Just a stony stare into what appeared to be space. There was no pain in his bruised eye, bandaged abdomen or cast arm slung to his side. He was the epitome of calm. His eyes flickered out of their daydream when the jury returned from their room, having cast their votes. "Has the jury reached a verdict?" demanded Judge Drake to the nearest juror who stood.

"We have." She answered. "We find the defendant guilty on all charges." Jack's heart sunk, plummeting into a dark abyss. He only wished his stomach was headed in the same direction.

"Jack White," Drake addressed Red who had given a false name, "it is the finding of this court that you be given the death sentence, but since that system is backlogged, you will be held in detention at Blackgate prison until feasible to carry out punishment by lethal injection. May God have mercy on your soul." He finished bitterly. BANG! The gavel came crashing down louder than it ever could. Jack felt nothing. He was incapable of mustering the slightest emotional response, even as he watched two security men cuffing Red and leading him to the holding cells to prepare for his transfer. Soon, Jack was left all alone in that courtroom. That was until he felt the shadow creeping over his shoulder.

"Another criminal put behind bars." Greeted Dent solemnly, resting his hand on the top corner of the chair. "Do you have any idea how long the state department has been after this guy?"

"Probably since he started stealing from people?" ventured Jack with a well educated guess. Dent nodded slightly to himself and rounded Jack, sitting next to him.

"Good call, good call." He sighed as he slumped back in the seat. "What if I told you that the interest in Red Hood was only just recently piqued?" Jack blinked, interested.

"I'm listening." He said.

"Listen, I don't know your name, and I don't want you to-"

"I never was _**going**_ to."

"Okay." Continued Dent, regaining his footing. "Truth is, we never really had a reason to go after this guy. Hell, he was doing the city a favour; made some honest businesses through all those heists, secured the future and rights of many working Gothamites. We don't want him to go inside."

"The D.A.?" asked Jack.

"In bed with the kingpins and the mobs. He wouldn't step in to save his own grandmother from execution if he was getting paid."

"What about the judge?"

"As far as we can tell, he's clean." Answered Dent with a certain level of...certainty. "None of the bullets we pulled from the dead cops belonged to his gun. Only the ones that were injured. Judge Drake didn't consider that in his sentence, so some kind of foul play is probably afoot."

"What do you want me to do?"

"If you want to save...Mr. White, if that _**is**_ his name, then you need to find out what or who is behind this and bring me the evidence." Dent turned to Jack. "Red Hood is doing more good than you think, for now. You're hurting the bad guys more than you're hurting us."

"If you want me to find this evidence, you're going to have to do something for us." Jack glared at Dent, letting him know that this would not come at a small price. Dent got the message.

"Get me something tangible on Judge Drake, something that'll prove his judgement was impaired, and I'll get Mr. White acquitted."

"You'll do more than that." Jack stated. "All files; gone. All evidence; gone. All information; didn't exist. To get me, you must make us vanish." Dent hesitated, almost ready to burst. He pulled out a small silver coin, playing with it between his fingers. He flipped it up into the air and caught it, turning it over onto the back of his other hand. Jack didn't see what it was, but he saw the outcome.

"Deal." Said Dent and without anything more to discuss, walked out of the courtroom, leaving Jack once more all alone. Only this time, Jack was filled with something more than the emptiness that stopped him from feeling nothing. It was something he had not felt in a very long time. Hope.

* * *

By the time Jack had returned to The Stacked Deck, the afternoon was fading into dusk. When he entered, he was greeted by the half-smiling face of Essex. Jack couldn't help but look at the ground in sadness. "That good, huh?" joked Jack's friend. "It isn't all bad. Well, actually, it is, but-" He was interrupted by Zed's hurried stomping towards them.

"You guys," he greeted without much 'greeting' in it, "you'd better come see this." They both followed Zed into the kitchen where everyone was gathered round in a large circle. In the middle of this circle stood none other than Hunt who appeared to be addressing all of them.

"...has left us without a leader-" Hunt noticed Jack, his arms folded. This did not deter Hunt from finishing; "We must move on. Red is no longer here, but that does not mean we should quit without him. The loss of one man has never brought us to an end before, so why should it now?"

"The cell doors have barely closed on Red's life and you're _**already**_ vying for his position." Scoffed Barlow. "I bet I can predict who you'll be campaigning to take over."

"I submit myself to lead-"

"Knew it!" exclaimed Barlow before adding; "You're so full of shit, Hunt."

"Hey-Hey! I have the same chance to be elected leader like you or anybody else!" barked back Hunt.

"This isn't a democracy." Argued Zed. "To replace Red, you'd need a certain skillset which you just _**don't**_ have."

"Oh, so _**you**_ want to take over?"

"Are you kidding? I'm not half the man Red is." Zed sunk back into the crowd.

"Besides, it's not like Red was the most infallible human being on the face of the Earth. He made his mistakes." Tarnished Hunt. "His selectiveness over jobs that could have gotten us good money in tight spots. Disregard and leniency towards the Families. _**Several**_ people he should have never introduced to the group." Jack, and a few others, couldn't help noticing Hunt's wayward glance in his direction.

"Are you talking about young Jack, there?" queried Trent accusingly.

"Of course no-"

"Jack's done a lot for us over the years. Doubtless, more that you've done for anyone but yourself." Trent was on the attack, but so was Hunt.

"My concern is for the gang first!" he argued back but the rest was lost in a blaze of insults and bickering on every front. Only Jack and Essex stood back to behold the spectacle before them. When it was apparent this wouldn't end without intervention, Essex stood in and intervened.

"Shut-up!" he ordered, shouting only the last word, causing it to cut right through the air with clean precision. It reached every ear and was obeyed by all, startling each and every one out of their individual quarrel. Essex, a little taken aback himself by the power of his words, carried on calmly; "You should all be ashamed of yourselves. So, Red is gone, but what he stood for is not necessarily something we can just replace. His leadership pulled us through hard times and now that he's gone we can't just give up on all of this. We'll have to band together more than before if we're going to get through the winter. This means no changes, no amendment and _**no**_ one gets left behind. Jack is as much a part of this family as I a-" but when Essex went to point out Jack, he was no longer in the room. Jack had in fact left the building and was marching on his way to get Red back into the world. Without him, the gang was falling apart and Jack would never be able to prove himself capable to one day relieve him if he could not take care of everything. He just had to have faith that Dent would keep his word, that Hunt would not be able to succeed and that Red would still be alive by the time it was all over.

* * *

_She welcomed me in, smiling with the kind of etiquette you'd expect from someone who respected you. I could tell Adele was enjoying this too much. Very nearly tried to start a conversation with me as well. 'How are you?' she asked me and I replied with a simple restrained 'Fine.'. It was enough to keep her down to one last sentence. 'He's up there right now.' God, I just wanted to kill her. No, worse; hurt her and keep her hurting for the rest of her life. How could this woman become such a vile and repulsive monster? A woman who scorns her own child for her own mistakes. I had half a mind to hand the gun over and tell her to do her own damned handiwork. She'd have probably killed me anyway. I remember the one thing that angered me most wasn't the hit, wasn't that she was behind it. It was that she had the gall to stay here and not even do me the common courtesy of trying to make an alibi for herself. Why the hell was she here in the house, knowing what was about to happen? Probably wouldn't be satisfied without hearing the damned gunshot. Wouldn't be stomached enough to watch. Typical bitch. I would have felt a little more easy if Adele hadn't been staring the thought of what I was about to do into my head as I ascended the stairs. My gun had never felt this heavy before. It was as if the weight of Rene's soul balanced on the chamber. I wondered if I did take his soul, would it forever more be perched upon my shoulders? My colour was drained by the time I reached the second story landing, gone the way of my thoughts the second I could see the thin strip of firelight flickering through the open door..._

* * *

**Thank you everyone for reading! It has taken me too long to finish this off (and it isn't even finished yet!). At last count, I have at least another three more chapters to add to this story. All of them are two-parters. Believe me, this was not my intention.**

**By the time I was seven pages in, I knew that I would have to split the chapter. The whole heist at the beginning was only meant to be the prologue! :P**

**A special thanks to my reviewers; Keywee and MintierBadger. Another thanks to those who have followed or favourited my story too. Please, if you haven't reviewed before, please do now or Private Message me. I hope you will tune in for the next instalment. Until then, I'll see you around.**


	6. Providence

Joker

Story Two: Gotham's Red Knight

Chapter Six: Providence

**Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is tonight's entertainment!**

**But seriously though, welcome back for the (what was not meant to be) the second part to the last chapter. This one was quite difficult to write, considering on how much of a thin thread I am writing with in terms of established history in the Bat-verse. Clarifying again, I'm not trying to re-write it, just adding some sort of substance and working around it. **

**Some more darker details in the life of Red including Jack's quest to set him free. In a way, I'm glad this was pushed out into a second part because that means I can flesh out more of Red in Blackgate. The downside is that the next two chapters after this are a two-parter, so I hope you're all not getting sick of them. :P**

**Anyway, enjoy and please leave a review after the beep!**

* * *

_We just stared at each other for the longest time. Rene knew why I was there; he had it figured out before I'd lifted the gun to eye-level, right to his head. His body may not have been able to save him or show any sign of fear, but his eyes spoke volumes. I could see in them the most unlikely mix of emotions for a time like this. Sure; fear, but there was also relief, remorse, courage. The one that hit me the most was understanding. That hurt more than any bullet. It was worse than knowing what I was doing, knowing why. It was to keep his daughter alive. Her and our son. You'd think that would take some of the pressure off, help you to go through with it, but it only made me realise how much this man was so different from my own dad. Heck, he was my dad and here I was about to kill him. I almost thanked him when he closed his eyes. They had been watering up, but I think he knew I couldn't shoot while he was looking at me. So, I gave him a moment to prepare and be at peace before I ended it all. I made sure it only took one. He deserved that much at least. Adele told the police that it was a burglary gone wrong. I stayed there. She was 'kind' enough to invent an alibi for me as well. Don't think I've ever wanted to fess up to a murder that badly for any other soul. If I'd thought I would die that night, I probably would have, especially if I'd known Jeannie was on her way. She was the only one apart from Adele and myself who knew that the person who killed Rene Dupree, her father, was her own husband...'_

* * *

This was the last place Jack wanted to be. After a few weeks of rehashing old connections, he had hit a dead-end. No one wanted to touch the matter. Someone had scared them into silence. Even the _**real**_ unknowns, the ones who did their criminal activities so well that not even Santa had their names on his list, were afraid to be touched. Whoever wanted Red stuck inside pulled out all the stops to keep him that way. So, with the insiders all out of the question, the only people left were those who had some real power. The ones who weren't easily scared or bought off. While Salvatore Maroni was not exactly that definition, he had been a friend of sorts. Not that it didn't cross Jack's mind that he might be meeting the mastermind behind the sabotage of the Red Hood Gang. He was aware that any of the criminals he had already contacted could have been the one behind it all. At the moment, that had to come second to freeing Red. The gang had become more unstable than ever; Hunt was running the operation into the ground and the others were getting ready to jump ship before they were all locked up. He couldn't trust any of them. That's the problem with criminals; they're always looking out for number one. It wouldn't be stupid, in a place like Gotham City, to always have contingency plans for your contingency plans. Maroni finally entered the office Jack had been waiting in for almost half an hour. He didn't complain at all, just a serious expression slapped on his face. "What can I do for ya, Jack? I'm a little busy." Maroni was more annoyed than anything else. Probably at Jack. Most likely. Didn't matter, Jack was still going to take up his time.

"I need some information." Stated Jack outright. Maroni slipped a butter menthol in his mouth.

"Anything." He grunted, wanting to get this over and done with. "Who?"

"A judge." Maroni froze, the menthol still poking out through his lips. After a moment, he focused his attention on the desk.

"Can't help ya."

"Yes you can."

"I can't-"

"You can."

"Can't!" he roared, standing, the vain popping in his forehead. He looked like a man whose life depended on his refusal. Jack wouldn't be surprised if that were the case. "If you want Judge Drake, you're gonna have to go somewhere else."

"How did you know it was Drake?" asked Jack. Maroni was never the best at poker and his face deflated the moment he had been caught. It was the face of a guilty man which only worsened when the door opened.

"He knows because it's his job to know." Answered the voice of a very strong man. Jack waited for him to round the desk and place his hands on Maroni's shoulders, forcing him to sit. "Sal's got eyes and ears all over this town. We both do. Oh, are you Red's boy?" The man in the blue suit extended his hand in greeting. "I'm Carmine Falcone." Jack shook out of courtesy, not kindness. Carmine's hand was cold to the touch but its grip was alive. The whole time he was there, a half-smile was visible, his lips only slightly curled up. "You must be little Ja-Well, not little. Just Jack now, I assume?"

"You must be the world's greatest detective." Deadpanned Jack. Falcone, contrary to Jack's expectations, chuckled.

"You're a funny man. Isn't he hilarious, Sally?" Falcone asked Maroni who looked and felt trapped as the punchline for a joke.

"Yes, he is." He sighed, holding his head in his hand.

"Hey Jack, do you know what Red once told me?" Falcone began. "He said that mob bosses were his speciality. I assume you know what I'm talking about?" Jack nodded once. "See, the thing he didn't realise was that _**my**_ speciality is two-bit thieves who think they can steal from me and get away with it. I may not be as-ahem-_**mature**_ as Red in regard to experience, but my family has been dealing with punks like him for generations." Falcone's tone stunk of tease...and a little of garlic. "I'm not surprised, with his attitude, that somebody finally snubbed him out. And Blackgate Prison. Ooh!" Falcone shook his head in a false shiver of disgust. "So many _**bad people**_ in there. More die in prison than in the city, and they always go after the fresh meat." Falcone just stared at Jack with ecstatic eyes, his smile a little more defined. Jack stood slowly.

"Thanks very much." He said.

"Not at all." Returned Falcone, motioning Jack to the door. He was glad to be out of there. There was nothing he could do about Falcone; the man was untouchable, and with every door being closed, Jack felt hopeless in his bid to save everything he lived for.

* * *

The guards made sure Red arrived at the courtyard this time. All the prisoners were outside in their groups, a few glancing in his direction every now and again. The Warden had gotten wise to Red's plan; on the first day Red arrived, he attacked one of the inmates. Not killed, just a little bruised. As a result, he spent a nice week safe in solitary confinement, away from the people who could harm him the most. The most Red could be thankful of was that his wounds no longer hurt to make him look weak. Appearances meant more than you could imagine on the inside. And with Red so close to his fifties, he needed to look as strong as possible. As he walked through the crowd, they shifted away from him, keeping their distance. Not because they were scared. Rather because they were waiting for someone to make their move and wanted to watch. Blackgate was the worst place for Red to be; many of the inmates here were arrested courtesy of the Red Hood Gang. Every single one who took the cowl of the Red Hood who was left behind to feel the wrath of the law now lived within these walls and none of them would pass up the chance to thank Red for his 'generosity'. Much to his surprise, no one even tried to attack him. He figured the only reason he was out here was so that he could be sized up or scared. The call for lunch didn't ease his concern. There was no time for Red to drop his guard even after he took a seat away from everyone else where he could see the whole Mess. The first thing he did was break apart his corn bread, mush his rice and sift through his gruel. There was nothing suspicious mixed into the corn bread, no pills hidden within the bed of rice but inside the gruel, he pulled out several large, sharp pieces of glass. This wasn't meant to kill him, just make him suffer. Despite everything else being clean, he didn't eat. Instead, he walked straight back to his cell where he intended on reading until lights out. This would be his routine from now on; no contact with anyone. Mind his own business...that was until his business came to mind him. He had only been sitting on his bed, almost forty pages into The Manchurian Candidate, when three disgruntled figures appeared at his open cell door. They were unarmed, but something told Red that this just meant his passing would be made all the more torturous. With a sigh, he dog-eared his page and stood to the side of his bed. He found them all familiar, but recalled one in particular. He was leaning on one leg more than the other, denoting that it had suffered a rather bad break at some point. The only person Red could remember breaking the legs of was on the night they heisted the GothCorp labs. He hobbled a little towards Red with an angry glare, but Red wasn't going to call for help. "Get back you pieces of shit!" barked one of the guards who moved the prisoners aside with his shock stick. Luckily for them, it was off and they edged out of the cell, leaving the guard and Red alone. The guard hadn't even looked at Red; he kept his eyes on his shock stick which he was rolling over in his hand.

"Thank you." Said Red suspiciously, keeping one eye on the stick. He had stopped moving it now and looked like he was considering something.

"No." answered the guard. Suddenly, the stick began buzzing with electricity and the guard held it up. "Don't thank me yet."

* * *

_I thought she'd turn me in. Almost hoped she would, but when they left, I realised she wanted the punishment to be her own deciding. We argued and argued about life, about Rene, about Adele and my decisions. How do you argue against the killing of someone? Where was my high ground on that subject? I guess it had been dug down into a nice grave for me to lie in. Still, I actually tried to get Jeannie to accept the fact that it wasn't my fault. You never won an argument with Jeannie, even if you were right. Why did I think I might succeed then? Either way, this wasn't an argument with a winner. We both lost. Jeannie decided to move out of our apartment and stay with a friend, far away from me and Adele. She went upstairs to get clothes she'd left in the mansion; it would be too painful for her to go back to ours. While I was alone, I had time to think. I thought about how to correct the karmic injustice of the universe that seemed to be shitting on my life. What could I, a hitman for the mob, do to make myself feel a little better about my situation? My train of thought led me on one interesting road. It thought: 'There is no reason why I could not kill the person responsible for forcing me to kill my prey. The hit had been paid for, I was not obligated to keep them alive and my occupation had the means of disposing of the corpse.' It was right. Desperate, but right. Adele didn't deserve to go unpunished for her horrible deeds and the awful way she treated Jeannie. Why should she be free from responsibility? When she appeared before me to gloat, I rounded on her. Just as I was about to snatch the life out of Adele's fearful soul, I hear the crash and looked back in time just to see Jeannie's body hit the floor after tumbling down the staircase._

* * *

"Time?"

"These locks are tricky. Give me some time."

"You can't have it!"

"I've never broken into a police station before. We don't do this kind of thing!" protested Zed, keeping his attention on hacking into the key coded lock.

"We do now." Hunt turned back to Webber who nodded, indicating the coast was clear. They were breaking into the confiscated goods section of the GCPD where, just through this next door, sat thousands of dollars' worth of illicit property. So far, nothing had gone wrong. So far.

"_Tell me again,"_ crackled Barlow's voice over the radio,_ "why do __**I**__ have to be the one in the getaway car?"_

"Yeah. And actually, why _**aren't**_ I in the getaway car?" queried Zed, glancing up at Hunt.

"Back to work." Ordered Hunt gruffly. "And Barlow, stay off the radio. We're in radio silence and the last thing I need it you screwing up this mission."

"Company!" hissed Webber, running to Hunt and Zed. Two pairs of footsteps were approaching from the adjoining corridor.

"Got it!" Zed closed his small laptop and the door opened. The three bustled inside, Hunt just closing the door as the two officers rounded the corner. They waited until their voices died down low before searching through the shelves and shelves of property.

"What are we lookin' for?" asked Webber, checking out a Rolex.

"Anything that is worth something. Aha!" Hunt walked over to one of the shelves lined with bags sitting, piled on top like brickwork. He flicked out his pocket knife and sliced one of the pouches, revealing a fine white powder inside. Much to the disgust of Zed, Hunt licked his knife with great delight. "Fine cut, seventy percent I'd say."

"Cocaine?"

"Drugs." Breathed Zed. "This was why you wanted this place, isn't it?"

"Yeah, so what?" grunted Hunt. "Load 'em up." Webber, not seeing any point in arguing, started helping Hunt pack away the little packets into a duffel. Zed, however, wasn't done.

"But Red Hood doesn't steal drugs!" he pleaded. "We go after companies, prey on the desperate. Drugs are too hot, especially these ones. It's a much more dangerous game." Hunt reeled around, grabbing Zed by the collar.

"This gang could use a little dangerous!" he hissed. "If you feel so strongly about this, I'd be willing to donate away _**your**_ share to some _**desperate**_ people."

"No!"

"Then since your job is over, I suggest you shut up!" Zed was thrown to the floor, his laptop smashing into pieces. He couldn't believe what was happening, how this man could be so careless.

"You idiot!" he cursed softly, and that's when they heard the door creak open.

"-I dunno, it was already unlocked." Came the voice of what was obviously a cop. Two entered as Hunt, Webber and Zed hurried to separate hiding spots. "Hey, Murphy! You in here?" called the same officer.

"I think Murph's off duty today." Said the other policeman. They strode past Webber's hiding spot without spotting him. Just as Zed peered over a crate full of illegal fireworks, his radio crackled to life.

"_Hey, guys, you almost done in th-"_ Zed couldn't have shut it off quicker, but it was no use. By the time he looked up, both officers had their guns drawn and pointed at him.

"Stand up!" ordered the first officer. "Put your hands on your head!" Zed complied as the second officer reached for his radio.

"We've got intruders in the confiscated good-Argh!" Crash! He was tackled to the ground by Webber. As the first officer turned to discern the trouble, he was grabbed from behind by Hunt. The officer tried to turn his gun around and shoot Hunt but missed. He soon dropped his weapon as his attacker sent his open blade into his right hand, right through until it knocked the hilt of the revolver. With that out of the way, Hunt 'mercifully' broke the officer's neck and turned to Webber who had successfully knocked out his policeman.

"I'll grab the coke." Huffed Webber, picking up the duffel. Both he and Zed jumped when they heard the gunshot and saw Hunt aiming it at the unconscious officer, now pooling blood around his head. Barely a moment was wasted as they left the exact way they came, with officers closing in behind them.

"Hello." Swooned Barlow into his radio, unaware of anything bad happening. "Getting bored out here. I am actually trying to time how long the cigarette lighter takes to heat up." More silence. Where were they? "If you guys don't respond in three...five seconds, I will personally strip naked and sit on the car for the ride back." One. Two. Three. Four. "Okay, you know what, this is getting ridicu-" Barlow was startled by the sudden appearance of his comrades as they bungled into the car.

"Shut up and drive!" shouted Webber. Before Barlow could even start the engine, Hunt had rolled down the window and was shooting at the tailing cops. The back windshield shattered as it was riddled with bullets and the car took off.

"Crap!" cursed Barlow, looking back at the police cars only now just pulling out of the station parking lot. "What the hell happened back there?! What did you steal?!"

"Hunt didn't tell us!" shivered Zed. "He wanted to go in there and steal confiscated cocaine-"

"Drugs?!"

"Yeah, and put them back into circulation! I told him it was a bad idea, but..."

"Hunt!" barked Barlow. "What shit are you throwing at us?! Are you crazy?!"

"Turn left here." Ignored Hunt, pointing at the next turn.

"Why would you-"

"Left here!" SCREECH! Hunt viciously grabbed the wheel and spun the car into the turn, narrowly missing another vehicle before relinquishing control back to the driver.

"Holy-" Barlow moved them back onto the right side of the road. "You can goddamn drive this car from now on! What are you thinking stealing drugs?!"

"We scam the dealers out of their money by pretending to give back their product and instead, sell the stuff on the street." Schemed Hunt. "It's the perfect system and we don't lose a cent."

"What?!" But Barlow's exclamation went unanswered. As they entered the next intersection, they were hit on the driver's side by one of the pursuing police cars. Neither passengers from both cars could recall when the vehicles stopped spinning, but all were extremely groggy and dizzy. The first thing Hunt did was reload his gun and point it at the police car. Barlow, being in the driver's seat, saw the gun in front of his face and immediately pushed Hunt's hand upwards so it didn't go off in his eyes. He quickly rolled out the open door and allowed Hunt a clear shot through his hazy vision at the police driver. Webber, meanwhile, dragged a moaning Zed out of the rear passenger's side and reached back in for the duffel bag. Suddenly, he was shot by the passenger officer, the bullet puncturing a hole right through Webber's chest. Hunt finished off the other officer quickly and heaved up a bleeding Webber onto his shoulders.

"Grab that!" Hunt ordered to Barlow, nodding towards the bag. "We're only a few blocks away." Zed wouldn't get up. He just laid there on the ground in a ball, groaning and holding his head. Hunt kept on walking. "Hurry up or you get left behind!" was the last notice Hunt took of either of them, jogging away from the scene. Barlow's senses returned to him and he could hear the sirens heading their way. He looked down and reached out with his hand.

"C'mon, man." He said to his partner on the road. Zed pulled himself up with Barlow's help and they followed Hunt, leaving behind the spoils of the heist without regret.

* * *

"Do you have...any Kings?"

"Son of a..." Essex handed over his two Kings to Jack. "C'mon baby. Uh...you don't, by any chance, carry six-shooters, do ya?"

"Go fish."

"Damn it!" Essex threw his cards on the floor in frustration and folded his arms. "Why do I even play cards with you?!" he complained, popping open another beer. "Aren't you supposed to be working on your pet project, or something? I mean, it's not like we'll be in this place in a week or two."

"I'm a little stuck and I've tried everything." Jack said sadly. "And besides, my mind has been preoccupied with other things."

"Well, tell me. What's stopping you?"

"I've got the effect I want, but execution is all wrong." Explained Jack. "I've tried every mixture I can think of but nothing will work."

"But your toxin knocks people out, right?" asked Essex.

"Yeah, but I want it to be a type of...signature. It makes you laugh and pass out." Jack got into his explanation but slumped in his chair when he came back to the problem. "The most I can get out of it is a coughing fit."

"Does it sound like a laugh, though?"

"A little." Shrugged Jack. "I guess you can't have everything."

"Not now, at least." Essex threw a beer to Jack who caught it without trying. "You try and run towards your goals and you might overshoot them. Best, sometimes, to wait for them to come to you." Jack smiled at his friend. He was gonna miss this place. Where would Essex live? As far as Jack knew, he hadn't even taken a cent from any of the heists, or stockpiled some leftover cash. What would he do after the gang was dead and done? He probably had a plan. They all did, but none would share what they were. You couldn't call these people a family. In the truth of it all, they all knew nothing about each other. Whatever they were, it was better than most friendships or families turned out to be. Jack raised his freshly opened beer.

"To Red Hood." Said Jack.

"To Red." Said Essex and both drank a sensible amount before the door opened and a familiar face walked down the stairs.

"Hey, guys." Greeted Marybeth, hugging Jack first and foremost. "How're you going? You okay?"

"I'm fine." Assured Jack.

"You've been distant recently, is all. Don't worry, Red will figure something out-Ess, are you _**trying**_ to keep him away from me?"

"If I say yes, will you take _**him**_ away from _**me**_?" smirked Essex. "He's too good for cards...but you can stay, if you want."

"Oh, _**har har**_!" mocked Marybeth. "Excuse me before I bust a gut." She put her arm around Jack and began leading him up the stairs. "Good luck playing solitaire without one of your _**Jacks**_!"

"Good luck getting laid during your time of the month!" was the last sentence they heard Essex shout up from the basement before Marybeth slammed the door shut, hoping to high heaven only she heard it. Unfortunately for her, even Hammond at the far end of the bar sniggered behind his newspaper, causing Marybeth to blush.

"What brings you down here?" Jack asked.

"Does a girl need a reason to see her boyfriend?" Marybeth gave him the puppy dog eyes, but Jack wasn't fooled.

"Why stop making them now?" he smiled back. She realised the jig was up and frowned.

"It's dad. He's drinking a lot again. He and Red were good friends, plus; he always gets this way around Christmas."

"Is he one of _**those**_ Christmas people?" quizzed Jack. "Heavy on the eggnog, light on the spirit?"

"He was served around then." She said wistfully. Jack's heart sank.

"Sorry to hear-"

"It's alright. You're the first person I've told this, and I'm kinda glad it's-" but she was interrupted by the front door slamming open and four broken and battered men staggered inside, practically falling over as soon as they crossed the threshold.

"Jesus!" gasped Hammond, jumping out of his seat.

"Doc!" weakly called Hunt, unable to breathe for the unconscious form of Webber was still on his back.

"Hillocks!" shouted Jack. Hillocks entered quickly, having heard the slam.

"My God, what happened?" He rushed over to Webber and with Hammonds help, lifted him off Hunt and carried him into the kitchen.

"Shot in the chest." Choked Hunt. He coughed up some blood and fell into a chair, his legs unable to carry him any further.

"Is he gonna be alri-" began Barlow, but Hillocks already had his response.

"Yeah, how's about letting me treat him first and I'll get back to ya!" he remarked loudly, cutting open Webber's shirt with scizzors.

"What can I do, Doc?" asked Hammond as he closed the kitchen door, obscuring the scene from the rest of the world. Hunt was a defeated man. He had no energy left and no idea what to do next. It was as if the world was laughing at him, trying to steal away his victory. Was it all too much to ask? One lousy win? Physically and mentally exhausted. Now he knew exactly what it felt like to be the leader of this gang. Just then, a hand reached out towards him, holding a glass of water. He followed the hand down the arm, up the shoulder and into the eyes of Jack. They weren't concerned or happy. It was as if he was helping out of pure necessity. Hunt nodded once and took the glass, draining it down in three gulps flat. He wet his mouth and throat, let his head fall back and slowed his breathing.

"Well," he began, "at least we got the stuff." He noticed, after five seconds, that his previous statement was met with an awkward silence. Hunt immediately turned to Barlow with interrogating eyes. Zed could see what was coming, so he let himself slide out of Barlow's supporting grip and into a nearby chair. "Where." Hunt began again. "Is." He continued. "The bag?"

"Cocaine has no place in this gang." Started Barlow strongly. Both Jack and Marybeth were shocked by this revelation and Hunt knew he couldn't stand up to four of them, and eventually the whole gang. After a very long pause in which the coldest stares were exchanged, Hunt managed to pull himself slowly from his chair and walk past Barlow. As they came so very close, a spark flew through the air. From then on, whoever saw these two in the same room would understand that they were rivals, opposites, bitter enemies. As Hunt climbed the staircase and broke contact, Barlow walked out of the building, off to wherever he could to get rid of the pain and anger coursing through him.

"Anyone notice how, whenever we get back here after a heist, we're always either hurt bad, at each other's throats or both?" asked Zed, not really expecting an answer, and didn't get one. "Can't believe we've lasted this long." With that, he went behind the bar and poured himself a glass of whatever alcoholic liquid he could reach.

"Jack. This is ridiculous." Worried Marybeth. "Red needs to be here otherwise this gang is going to fall apart."

"The gang's always falling apart, Marybeth." Corrected Jack. "We're all just a deck of cards, and Red was the pack. Besides, there's nothing I can do."

"Maybe not you, but daddy might." Jack turned to her, confused. She never said her father could help with anything. It was futile anyway.

"I've tried with Commissioner Loeb; the police can't help."

"But dad is Red's friend and he's being eaten alive by grief." Jack wasn't sure where she was going with this. "Isn't that what Red Hood does? Prey on the desperate? And I'm sure Peter is waiting for the opportunity to help out an old friend." Jack considered this in great thought. It couldn't hurt to try out one last lead, however fruitless it might appear. Perhaps this was a time where it would be best for Jack to put Grogan on the job, then wait for the answer to come to him.

* * *

_I hate hospitals. At least, I did after that night. I can't tell you how frantic I was trying to get Jeannie to Gotham General. I'm not even sure I was on the right side of the road the whole way down. God damn mansion with its half mile drive. Could have sworn I was driving in circles, but that was just the worry and the anger mixed with...well, everything. My body was a chemical warfare and the last place I should have been was behind the wheel. I don't even know how I ended up sitting in the hallway outside her room. I just kept praying that she didn't join her father and that everything was alright with the baby. My entire future depended on what happened this night. When the doctor stopped at my feet, I felt her sadness wash over me. Then, then I knew something was horribly wrong. She told me that Jeannie's fall had broken her leg and that she would never be able to dance again. My precious ballerina couldn't even dance. She went on to tell me Jeannie's fall was caused by being over-stressed. In other words, it was my fault. I'm ashamed to think that a part of me was saying 'Is that all? Please, tell me that is all!' Then she told me that...When I went in to see her, I tried not to notice the change. I didn't want anyone to say anything. If anyone was going to tell her, it would be her husband. While she slept, she looked so peaceful, like an angel. She didn't need both legs to dance; she had wings. She woke, she saw me and actually smiled. I tried to return it, but Jeannie could sense my guilt behind those falsely happy eyes. That's when she saw, or didn't see, rather, the belly she had developed throughout her months of pregnancy. At least I didn't have to tell her. We both knew that our little boy was gone before he was even with us...and it was __**all **__**my **__**fault**__._

* * *

"Okay, you can thank me now." The voice was barely breaking through the wall of darkness surrounding Red's mind. Slowly, it cleared and was replaced by a blur. Someone was moving through the light, a grey form rounding wherever Red was. He couldn't even tell what position he was in; sitting down, standing up or hovering in the air. A second, slightly lighter figure appeared in what little vision Red had. He could make out a white doctor's coat, and that was all.

"He's been stabilised for now." Said the doctor.

"Thanks. Here's a little something for your wife." The darker figure pulled out a couple of bills and tucked them into the doctor's breast pocket. The doctor nodded and departed as Red's vision started to clear. The guard stood at the foot of a bed which Red was apparently lying in. He had been taken to the medical wing of Blackgate after, what he remembered, having the crap beaten out of him by this man. Before slipping into unconsciousness, Red had caught sight of the guard's name tag.

"Why should I thank you, Mr. Boles?" Red wheezed, pulling himself up in his bed into a better position.

"Because," said Boles, "what I did was nothing compared to what those three thugs would have done to ya." He patted Red's shoulder. "The name's Frank, by the way."

"Why..." Red coughed. "Why are you helping me?"

"You got a smart man in your little group, bailed me out of a spot of bother." Frank reached for his belt, startling Red. Instead of a gun, Frank pulled out a flask. Red relaxed back into his pillow. "Gave me enough cash to bribe the docs and purchase this little keep-sake." He took a small swig.

"Jack?" Red asked no one in particular.

"Mmm." Hummed Boles, with his mouth still full. When he swallowed it down, he continued; "Didn't catch his name. Just said he'd been stockpiling this for a while and that he'd give it all to me if I kept you alive."

"Damn it, Jack." Sighed Red. He knew Jack had been saving up his money from every heist he'd taken part in for the future when he might need it. Red had hoped Jack would use it for Marybeth and a family, but he didn't have to go and waste it all like this. "Got any idea when I'll be taken to be executed?"

"Not sure, but the honourable Judge Drake is pushing for you to be moved up the list. Since Mayor Klass is behind him, I wouldn't get too comfortable in this bed." Answered Boles, taking another slug. "I hear your boy has a plan to get you out, but I personally wouldn't bet money on him." Red looked up at this last statement. He hoped it wasn't anything too foolish, like breaking into the prison. No. That wasn't Jack's style. He was proud that Jack was using the skills Red had been trying to hone in on him since he was a boy. There was only one more question he had to ask before falling asleep.

"Hey, Boles," he began to get Frank's attention, "what did Jack bail you out of?" Frank smiled and bent in a little closer.

"Smell my breath."

* * *

Jack had been waiting for three days now for something. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the answers were coming. As suggested, Jack did go to Grogan and plea his case. Peter wasn't the most welcoming person, especially since Jack had arrived with Marybeth who insisted on sticking up for Jack wherever she could. After a while, he insisted on making her leave the room while Peter and he worked things out. A friendly drunk, Grogan was not. Luckily, Jack managed to calm him down in the end and Peter finally agreed to help out if no one found out about their arrangement. The deal was struck and Jack left Grogan alone to his own devices. Marybeth wasn't all too excited about this joint cooperation between them, but then again, neither was Jack or Grogan. Late last night, Jack received a call from Lieutenant Eckhardt telling him to meet in the Gotham Anglican Church at six the next morning. Needless to say, it was freezing cold inside and Jack had his coat wrapped up tightly. At least he had Marybeth hugging him to add another layer. She'd forced herself to come along, since she had been in bed with Jack when he received the call. Insisting the whole time, he eventually gave in and let her tag along. Mind you, that wasn't the only thing she had been insistent on. A reverend walked down the church to the front, lighting candles dotted about the walls. He soon disappeared from the main hall with an almighty clatter as he closed the door, leaving Jack and Marybeth all alone. She turned to him; his eyes were transfixed on the large figure of Christ nailed to the cross suspended over the far wall. "Are you religious, Jack?"

"...Not sure." He answered. "You?"

"Not particularly." Marybeth shook her head.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well..." it was clear she felt uncomfortable about the subject, but she was the one who brought it up. "I was just wondering if you were...abstinent or something."

"'Course not." Scoffed Jack, his breath coming out in tufts of steam.

"Is there a reason why you won't?" she asked.

"Not really."

"Is it me?"

"No." Jack turned to her, enforcing this answer.

"Then why?"

"I just...I don't think I'm ready yet." He said. "And, frankly, neither are you." Marybeth opened her mouth to argue but closed it, unable to argue. "This is the kind of thing that we need to be sure we're ready for."

"I'm twenty-four, Jack. Older than you are. When will we be ready if not now?" She folded her arms, making her case, but Jack was ready.

"Are you thinking emotionally?" He asked, but she looked away. "_**Just**_ emotionally? What about financially? Economically? What were to happen if we did it and had a baby on the way?"

"Use a condom."

"You know that stuff isn't always effective, and there's no way you're taking the pill. People get blood clots from those." Jack settled back down in the chair and sighed. "Do you want me to raise a kid doing what I do?" Marybeth shot him a glare.

"Of course not." She stated severely.

"I'm gonna have to be there for a while to provide for both of you. I don't want our child to be exposed to that lifestyle." He calmed his voice and held Marybeth's hands. "I'm not saying we won't. I'm just saying; we wait. For a special occasion."

"When will that be, Jack?" She expected him to know the answer.

All he could manage was; "Soon." He smiled, smoothing his hand over her check and through her hair. They leaned in for a tender kiss, both somewhat reassured. Jack glanced at his watch; only a minute or two left to go. He quickly showed her to a spot behind a pillar where she could watch from afar in case something bad happened. With one last quick; "I love you." Jack snuck back to his seat and waited in silence until the door opened a few seconds later. The rounded figure approached Jack down the central passage. His eyes were blacker than usual, skin very pale. Eckhardt sat between Jack and the aisle where he lit up a fat cigar. "That's quite insensitive." Commented Jack.

"So is religion to science," he handed Jack a folder, "and vice versa."

"What's this?" queried Jack, to which Eckhardt gave him a quizzical look.

"A description of Jimmy Hoffa's last cavity search." He deadpanned. "Open the damn thing." Jack did so and flicked through the photographs inside. All seven showed the same two people. One was Judge Drake, but it wasn't until the fifth photo that the other man's face was visible.

"Falcone." Breathed Jack.

"Yeah. The two were meeting up to discuss how far up the list your man Red could be pushed for execution. He's been scheduled in for today." Informed Eckhardt. "Grogan knew he couldn't check this out without being caught by Loeb so he sent me to investigate instead. Funny, huh? The only good investigation I do is for a criminal."

"Why help us, though?"

"What can I say? Falcone just doesn't have the same charm as Red." Smirked Eckhardt. Jack knew that it was the pay he was after, but that didn't matter. "Falcone had Loeb send out the cops to arrest Red and then got Judge 'Dread' to give him the death sentence."

"But I was told that Drake was clean; no money transactions or anything." Thought Jack. "What was Falcone using to buy him off?"

"At first, I thought it was blackmail, but there was nothing to connect Drake with any illegal activity. It was impossible; he was clean as a whistle." Eckhardt leant in closer, the stink of smoke filling Jack's nose and watering his eyes. "But while I was checking through Thomas Drake's file, I noticed a name; Jared Drake, Thomas' brother. I had heard that name before, so I started checking through other records and..."

"Why is it so important?" Jack could tell from Eckhardt's face that there was a perfectly good reason and that this reason lay inside the second folder that Eckhardt slid into Jack's hands.

"You're definitely gonna want to see this." And he was right. Almost an hour later, Jack arrived at the office of the Assistant District Attorney.

"Did you find something?" he asked as soon as the door was closed. Jack showed him the documents and when Harvey was finished reading over them, he added; "And you're sure?"

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't." stated Jack sternly. Harvey nodded, a little smile appearing on his face.

"Okay then." He said, reaching for his phone. "I'll try to reach the prison before Red's transferred to be executed." He began dialling hurriedly.

"And Dent." started Jack. Dent looked up into his eyes. "You keep _**all**_ of the bargain." Harvey nodded and turned away. By the time he next looked up, Jack was long gone and he knew they would probably never meet again.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Blackgate Penitentiary, three guards walked into the medical wing, led by Boles. They waited before Red's bed, one of them holding shackles which Red knew he would have to wear. "Time for one last road trip." Said Boles. Red nodded proudly, accepting his fate. Without resistance, the shackles were locked into place and chains attached to each of the guards. There was no escaping this time, and actually, Red didn't mind it at all.

* * *

_The worst image I have ever seen in my life is a coffin made for children. It's not the proportions that send shivers down my spine, or even having a child inside it that hollows out my heart. It's the idea, the fact that this world is so unfair, so horrible, that even our youngest treasures are born to experience life and be a whole person without the certainty of having any of these. Our boy didn't even open his eyes or breathe the air. There was no birth date, only death. Worst of all; the name placement sat empty on his tombstone for the longest time. It would have been harder on us if we'd decided on what to call him beforehand, but it still hurt. There were only a few of us at the funeral; Conrad came to pay his respects. Valestra sent me an envelope with twenty thousand dollars inside. I don't think I touched a cent. It was only Jeannie and I who went to the burial; we wanted it that way. The whole time, I couldn't help but repeat the same phrase over and over in my head; 'A parent should never have to bury their child'. As the coffin was lowered; 'A parent should never have to bury their child'. As the dirt was scattered; 'A parent should never have to bury their child'. As the world became empty; 'A parent should never have to bury their child'. It wasn't until it was all over that Jeannie started to cry. We both did. It had only just dawned on us that our young baby boy was now just a memory we never had. We were struck by the emotion we had over a child that wasn't even alive but was already dead. Our investment, our commitment to him had all come to nought. The only solace we took on that cloudy day was that there was finally a name on the tomb of our dearly departed son, Patrick._

* * *

Falcone was the happiest man in the world when Jack entered his domain. He sat triumphantly in his throne of power, a drink on the table and a smile across his face. "Drink?" he asked politely. "Are you a drinker?"

"Not very much." Answered Jack, striding across the room, over the dark green carpeted floor. "But I suppose, under the circumstances." Falcone placed four cubes of ice in a glass and filled it up two finger widths.

"Ever tried port before?" He sniffed the liquid with a savoury air. "Strong stuff."

Jack took the glass, stating; "I don't doubt it. Thanks." But Jack didn't take a sip. Falcone clicked his tongue between his cheeks.

"Execution at high dawn. I'm planning on heading down to watch the main event myself." He smirked greedily. "Can I offer you a lift? I'll be sure to pay for your seat." He chuckled, draining down his entire glass. He slipped a half melted ice cube into his mouth and chewed it up. Jack was still staring sternly at him, unmoving, his glass sweating. "What?" Falcone shrugged. "Do you expect me to confess? Want me to beg forgiveness, climb a building and jump off it? Sorry to disappoint, kid, but this world isn't all about promises and wagers. It's an unfair world, Jack, and I'm karma making an example out of Red. So, say whatever you want to say and get out."

"I know you met with Judge Drake." Said Jack.

"Yeah, so?" Carmine chewed another ice cube. "The man doesn't take bribes, he's not on the take."

"I know."

"Oh, so you're thinking _**blackmail**_?" Falcone gurgled a laugh through his mouthful of ice. "What could I possibly hold over him? The man has no criminal activity, he's squeaky clean. Look, you're barking up the wrong tree and getting into something you know nothing about. How many times do I have to say it? You can't touch me! I didn't bribe him, and I didn't blackmail him!"

"I know you didn't." Jack tossed a file in front of Falcone, knocking aside his empty glass. A hint of confusion and nervousness crossed Carmine's eyes as he opened the cover.

"What is this?" He questioned Jack.

"A file on a police officer called Blake Moran." Informed Jack, watching as Falcone tentatively went from page to page. "He was killed almost thirteen years ago, supposedly by the Red Hood Gang. This detective was assigned specifically to investigate the gang and determine who the ring leader was. It was difficult to find any records of him before he joined the police force...because Blake Moran never did." Falcone looked up from the files, clearly seeing his world crumble around him. "Blake Moran was never his real name; he changed it when he joined the undercover police to protect his family. Blake Moran's real name was Jared Moran..._**Drake**_." The room felt cold in the unmoving silence. "You didn't need to bribe Thomas Drake. You didn't even need to blackmail him. All you had to do was tell him who killed his brother and he would play right into your hands. You used his hatred for Red Hood against him to make him convict Red. But now, it's all over."

* * *

All the prisoners were at the fences, shouting at Red as he was led towards the front gates where he would board a car that would take him to his death. He kept his eyes to the ground until the gates closed behind him, drowning out the sounds of Blackgate. It was only then that he looked up into the dark, cloudy sky above. It reminded him of a sad day in his past, when the whole world seemed to be breaking apart under his feet. At least today was a little...better. A guard was waiting to greet them at the vehicle, but another came running across past Red and his troupe and whispered in the guard's ear. Boles glanced back at Red, a little confused himself. When they finally reached the car, Boles walked up to the guard who carried on the message. Frank sighed, turned and approached Red. Chain by chain, he unlocked the prisoner and, unusually, removed the shackles. Red was surprised and even more astounded when the messenger guard handed him his civilian clothing. Could this really be happening? Was it all over, or just a moment for him to rise before he would fall? The smile on Boles' face told him it was the first one. Red then saw, across the road, two men standing outside a taxi. Barlow and Trent were waiting, beaming at their friend who was now a free man. Red gave a subtle nod to Boles and began walking across the road, not aware of the second car with another man sitting inside with a rifle on his lap.

* * *

"Harvey Dent has released Red on the grounds of an unfair trial." Continued Jack. He didn't sound triumphant, he was saving that for later when he was sure all was fine. At the moment, he was enjoying it enough just watching Falcone sweat. "He'll go free."

"Fine." Said Falcone. "He walks. Doesn't mean something bad won't happen to him out in the real world. Now, get out." Spat Carmine, but Jack wasn't finished yet.

"There is one more thing." He admitted, holding up another folder. "There are some other documents that I didn't hand over to Dent. Certain documents that link you to corruption within the Gotham Police Department; namely Commissioner Loeb as well as other people in power. You wouldn't want these to fall into the hands of the incorruptible, would you?" By now, Falcone was livid, shaking with anger.

"What do you want?" he growled through gritted teeth.

"If I find out Red doesn't make it back to The Stacked Deck alive, then these go straight to Dent and your family is finished." Jack was perfectly serious. Carmine was bursting at the seams, his eyes flickering from Jack to the phone. Eventually, with great difficulty, Falcone dialled his phone and muttered into the receiver before hanging up. They waited, staring at each other. Neither broke eye contact. Both wanted to kill the other. Time quite literally stood still inside that room until it was broken by the phone ringing once more. This time, it was Jack who answered. "Hello."

"_He's here. We're back."_ Said Trent over the line.

"Thanks." And both hung up. Falcone sighed heavily.

"There. Satisfied?" he asked gruffly. Jack nodded. "Give me the folder and this all goes away."

"...No." said Jack, draining his drink and walking to the door. Falcone literally jumped out of his seat, outraged.

"We had a deal!" he shouted at the top of his voice. "How dare you do this to me! You broke our deal!" Jack rounded on Carmine, causing him to take a step back.

"You're goddamn right I broke the deal!" Falcone was wide-eyed, frightened at the dangerous accusing finger Jack was pointing at him. "Why shouldn't I when you broke yours? It's an unfair world Carmine, and I'm karma making a joke out of you. You want a deal honoured? How's about honouring your own first." Jack looked around the office one final time before composing himself and finishing, with a calm voice; "Merry Christmas." before walking out the door. Now, he felt triumphant.

* * *

By the time Jack arrived back at The Stacked Deck, celebrations were already underway with the gang gathered around to drink at Red's safe return. When Jack entered, the building went into an uproar, with almost everyone shaking his hand, rubbing his head and one or two giving him a hug. Slowly, he was led over to Red at the bar. The two smiled at each other warmly before hugging, glad the other was there. Red glanced over to the staircase where Hunt was watching from afar. Though nothing was said between them, they both were glad, to some degree, to see each other again. That was the last they saw of Hunt that night, not returning to celebrate. He knew it would be better if he were not there to spoil the night. "Gentlemen, raise your glasses to the best damn good man around, Red!" called Trent, already a little tipsy. The bar raised their drinks. "Not even death can take him, no law confine him!" And they all drained their glasses and continued on with stories of the past. Jack was in the middle of talking with Zed and Hillocks when he saw Marybeth walk inside, carrying a large envelope. He broke away from the two to join his girlfriend, kissing her welcomingly.

"Hey." They both greeted. "Father sends his regards." Added Marybeth non-committedly. She held out the envelope and Jack saw there was a letter attached. "I found this outside tucked under the door. Someone only just dropped it off." Jack took the envelope and pulled out the letter. It was written in a familiar handwriting;

_To Mr. J,_

_Congratulations on the acquittal, I could never have pulled it off without you. Drake fessed up quick and he is making deals to keep his title by giving us certain ring operations run by the mob bosses. Loeb is on the retreat, giving my investigation into corruption claims more fuel to light a fire under his arse. The arresting officer of Red, Lieutenant Flass, has been reassigned to another officer for close observation. I'm sure Lieutenant Gordon won't stand for any illicit activities from Flass any time soon._

_A promise kept; inside this envelope is all the information I could pull from Gotham files in relation to the Red Hood Gang. You and your buddies are now ghosts. Good luck with your future endeavours._

_H._

Jack didn't expect to find Red and Essex in the basement away from the party, but he didn't mind. They were standing by the boiler, a fire blazing away inside. As Jack approached, he saw Red pick up a folded orange prison jumpsuit and toss it inside, immediately bursting into flames. "Good riddance" Red muttered. He watched as Jack added the large envelope to the fire and stand back to watch it burn. "What was that?" He asked.

"Us." Answered Jack. Red and Essex exchanged glances, Essex shrugging, before turning back to Jack. They didn't know exactly what he meant, but Red had an idea.

"Trent tells me that Marybeth informed them I was to be released." He continued. "How did she know when they didn't?"

"I told her to." Answered Jack.

"Aha. And how did _**you**_ know?" Red raised an eyebrow.

"Perhaps it is better that only I know." Said Jack, looking up at Red. He nodded before turning back to the fire.

"And _**why**_ did they pick me up in a cab?" enquired Red quizzically. Essex's expression sunk into despair. "What happened to the car?"

"Uhh...about that..." gulped Essex, scratching his head. "It's kinda...wrecked."

"Uh-huh." Nodded Red. "Guess we'll need to buy another." They all nodded, before slowly cracking and bursting into laughter. It was the happiest night they had ever had. Red felt like a new man, like he had been born again.

* * *

_It took us a while to realise that our lives weren't over, that Patrick's death wasn't a sign telling us to quit. We were lucky to still love each other and Jeannie understood now. She would forgive me over time, but this was something I could never forget. The days grew lighter and I found it easier to go through life after a while. I never felt comfortable working for Valestra from then on, but I had no other choice. At least I still had the other jobs to get money. Slowly but surely, we began to rebuild our lives together. Over a couple of years, we moved out of that run-down apartment and found somewhere we could make a real family and start over. Using that little ray of hope, we actually managed to come back from the brink. We still weren't out, but the road was clearing. I don't think I could have done it without Jeannie. Eventually, the pain had passed enough for us to go and visit Patrick's grave again. It was something special for us to be able to do. We even had the strength to visit Rene, but only Jeannie wanted to go to Adele's. She had passed away only seven months after that ghastly night from a heart attack in her sleep. I watched Jeannie from afar, talking to the plot. It would be a few more years before I would know exactly what she had said. We went back to our new home, to our two children, Heather and Sullivan. We had rebuilt stability in our lives. For the first time in a while, we were truly happy. Since everything that had happened, I truly felt like I had been reborn._

* * *

**Thanks very much for reading! I hope this wasn't too long. Just so you know, the next chapter will not be as long, in fact it may be a little shorter than usual. But let's not cement these claims in stone just yet.**

**I just wanted to thank **_**Keywee**_**and **_**MintierBadger**_** for your continued support and reviews. I wouldn't be writing this without you. While I'm mentioning it, you should go read Keywee's own Joker Origin story; 'The House That Jack Built' which has just been completed. It is a stellar story with its own twists and turns. Please, go read it and bug her to make a sequel! Don't say I said so.**

**To the rest of you, please tell me what you think of these chapters. I am eager to hear your opinions. The next chapter, 'Dealt From The Bottom', will be a while since I am trying to get back to my novel. Until then, see you all later!**

_**BEEP!**_


	7. Dealt From The Bottom

Joker

Story Two: Gotham's Red Knight

Chapter Seven: Dealt From The Bottom

**Chapter Seven! Wow, I only originally planned for five chapters per story, but there is still has another to go after this one. While the other chapters had quite a lot of action in them, this one is more of a plot-based one.**

**I'm hoping this chapter ties in well with one of the most famous Joker comics of all time. You'll know which one by the end, I hope. I've really had to put some thought into how all the loose ends I've made can be tied up (or at least most of them).**

**Thanks very much to MintierBadger and Keywee for sticking by me the whole way. You two were there from the very beginning, and I really appreciate the positive feedback you've given. Thank you, including those unknown to me who have read this whole story unfold. Enjoy!**

* * *

_Everything had been going fine for a while, but then I started getting into fights with Jeannie. She expected me to be there for the children all the time but I had two separate jobs to go to; I couldn't just tell the mob that my children were of greater value, could I? And if I missed out on one heist for the other boys, then we were done. No cash, no rent, no life. Eventually, I just started to not come home. It was probably more to avoid Jeannie than anything else. Believe me, I would have given anything to spend more time with the kids, but Jeannie wasn't providing. I was. Drinking became a problem. Sometimes it would be long after midnight when I would stumble home and just collapse into the living room lounge. Almost became too familiar with it as a substitute for a bed. The big wakeup call for me was the night I lost my temper. I don't generally get angry; it just aggravates an already bad situation. But that night, I must've been drunk or hung over, Jeannie and I got into another one of those fights. During it, I remember thinking that this is the same row we've had before and about a hundred other times. I could not remember a day that went by when we didn't have a shouting match. The more irrational part of me decided enough was enough and sent a punch at her. Luckily, my reactions kicked in and I made sure it missed its target. Made a pretty big dent in the fridge though. It was then and there that we agreed to make this work. Jeannie would stop nagging and I would come home after work to spend time with the kids. Generally, just do things with them a father should be doing; playing sport once in a while, give them 'The Talk', and show Sullivan how to shave. For a while, things really did seem to be getting better. I could almost not believe it when Cochran...poor Cochran._

* * *

**TUESDAY**

The restaurant was quite busy for lunch time. The patrons were mostly businessmen at lunch, but not the high-flying types. No, this was a restaurant for the workers. Food tasted good if you could afford it, but there was no guarantee it wouldn't come back up for a second helping. A waitress walked out of the kitchen, carrying one basket full of shrimp through the sea of eating customers. She placed it on a table near the middle of the room between three men. "Enjoy." She said with the least amount of enthusiasm as was needed and returned to her duties. One of the men picked a shrimp and began fiddling with it, deciding whether or not he should even attempt to taste it.

"I don't usually drink at lunch." He stated, eyeing off the prawn, and then letting it fall back in with its family.

"Man, be cool." Said Trent, leaning back in his chair. "If you don't want it, we can have it. Don't worry about paying for it either. By Friday, we'll all have enough cash to last us a lifetime."

"Money." Sighed the man. "It'll be good to earn enough to actually launch my bank balance up to two digits. Sandra and I have been teetering on the edge for so long now, and with the baby on the way..."

"So, why _**did**_ you quit Ace Chemicals anyway?" queried Hammond, cracking open a prawn shell. "Good pay and all and one hell of a Christmas bonus to look forward to; seems a waste to let it go."

"That's what I thought about the guy who was lab assistant before me." The man explained. "He quit too. Once I actually spent a few weeks in that place, it finally dawned on me why. Those fumes, the claustrophobia; it all boiled down to the fact that you needed something strong to survive working in that place day after day. That's why I decided I'd become..." He decided, after all, that he would like to have that drink now. "But it doesn't matter. I need help, so that's why I came to you guys."

"And we really appreciate the inside info you've given us." Thanked Hammond. "Blueprints, passcodes, escape routes, security timetable-Not much of them."

"How come such a high profile chemical manufacturing plant has so little security?" asked Trent curiously and a little suspiciously.

"Like I said, you'd have to be a fool to wanna go in there." The man answered. He glanced down under the table. When the two partners sitting across from him had arrived, he had spied the rounded man carrying a thick briefcase. "What's in the case?" He finally asked. Hammond blinked, remembering the other point he had to bring up.

"Oh yeah." He mumbled, pulling the briefcase onto his lap and clicking the locks open. "You'll have to wear this." The man's face slowly sunk into confusion.

"But...isn't that what _**he**_ wears? The Red Hood?"

"Phht! Get wise, kid." Hammond sneered. "There's no Red Hood."

"Yep." Inserted Trent. "It's the inside man who wears this...for increased anonymity." He finished, picking a small piece of shell and chewed on it. The man tried to say something, but had trouble forming his words that would come out in small sounds.

Finally, he cleared his throat and said; "Um...I-I don't know."

"What do ya mean 'you don't'-"

"I don't know if I can do the heist with that thing on my head." The man continued. "It hasn't even got any eye holes."

"Tinted red two-way mirror set into the helm." Assured Hammond. "You can try it on out back if-"

"No, no. I don't think I can go through with this." Trent's eyes widened.

"What?!" he exclaimed quietly.

"That plant, this helmet...and now some guy in a bat suit beating up criminals. It's all too much of a risk. I may be desperate, but I don't know if I'm _**that**_ desperate."

"Listen you little shit! We did not spend the last two months of planning just so we could flush the whole goddamn thing down the toilet!" growled Trent through gritted teeth. Hammond held him down in his chair so that he could to the talking.

"What my _**friend**_ here means is we understand; the fear, the anxiety. We're all going through it too. What we do not get is why, after all this time, you want to pull out. All these reasons you mentioned were there before. And think about why you should go; your bank balance, that dead-end job you've tried so hard at. Don't forget that wife of yours with a boy on the way. Whatcha gonna tell her? 'I had a chance to make this work but I didn't take it because I was scared?' Do you think she'll forgive you for it?" The man looked to the ground as Hammond preyed upon his weaknesses. "Maybe this heist is more than about money. Perhaps it is a test in your life to prove yourself as a man as well as a father." Hammond nodded to Trent to stand as he placed a couple of bills on the table. "Think it over, but be sure by Friday. Have a nice lunch, Mr. Napier."

* * *

"...What?" enquired Hillocks at the gaping face of Zed. He had just walked in the rear entrance and had to go through the kitchen where he had found their doctor.

"Is that what I think it is?" He asked, mouth still hanging open, pointing at what was in Hillock's hands.

"It's a hobby." Hillocks stated. "I do it from time to time."

"But in here?!" exclaimed Zed. "This isn't the sort of place you do that kind of-This is the operating room! I don't want to know what your hands have done while they're fixing me!"

"How do you think I got so good at it?" Hillocks raised an eyebrow while Zed pursed his lips. "Besides, it is very relaxing. You should try it sometime, I'll give you some lessons."

"I don't care if it gives you a hard-on," Zed protested, "I am _**not**_ learning how to do cross-stitch." Hillocks examined his canvas, seeing if there was something there that could be turning Zed off about the practice.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's too...girly." said Zed.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I guess the next time I stitch you up, I'll just have to leave some gaping wounds to make it manlier for you." Sarcastically commented Hillocks. "Cross-stitch really fills you with pride when you're finished. Look, I made a giraffe on this one." Hillocks opened a drawer and showed Zed a canvass where a tall giraffe family were grazing the treetops on an African plain.

"What does that have to-Ooh, that actually looks pretty cool." Admired Zed.

"Yeah, who's being the girly one now?" Smiled Hillocks, returning to his hobby. Zed attempted a rebuttal, but realised he couldn't win this one and left. As he entered the bar, the first thing he noticed was Jack at the phone talking to someone.

"I don't know why he invited me to dinner tonight, honey." Said Jack, obviously talking to Marybeth on the other end of the line. "Maybe I'm the only guy in the history of forever to actually be liked by the father of his girlfriend."

"_I don't want you two to be friends! It's not fair you get on so well."_ Marybeth complained.

"I can't help it that we're becoming buds." Jack argued back playfully. "People just can't help falling for my natural charisma and charm." Zed would at least end the day with at least one good insult under his belt.

"Hey, Jack! Having lady troubles?" He teased with a wide grin.

"Maybe, but at least I have one." Returned Jack. Zed opened his mouth to make a rejoinder, but was unable to come up with a suitable one.

"Man," he said sadly, "I am just off today."

"Want a drink?" asked Webber, holding out a glass for Zed.

"You saying I'm only awesome when I'm drunk?" interrogated Zed accusingly. Webber merely shrugged and drank the glass down. Hammond and Trent entered the bar, both with a concerned expression on their faces. Red, who had been sitting at a table playing solitaire by Barlow, rose and joined them.

"How did it go? Is the job still on?" he asked immediately.

"Napier's not sure." Answered Hammond.

"Not sure? He practically refused us, after everything he's been through." Trent grumbled, slumping into Red's empty chair.

"This can't be good." Assessed Barlow. "Has he said he'll turn us in or tip off the cops?"

"I don't think so." Said Hammond. "He just won't come along because of his wife. Afraid it'll all go to hell."

"I can get him to come along." Volunteered Hunt, standing by the stairs. "Just threaten to make him single again if he doesn't help us."

"No. That's not necessary." Denied Red to Hunt's dismay. "If he won't rat us out, then we don't need to worry. We've got all of the information we need here for the heist to work. It's still on. Meet up tomorrow night in my office for the full run-over of the plan. If he's not here, then consider him out. We'll have to work around those parts." Everyone understood and separated to go about their lives. Jack walked over to Red.

"So, who is this informant? What's he like?" asked Jack.

"Napier? He used to work at the plant, got a pregnant wife. I guess he's nice enough. Funny," added Red, "he's got the same first name as you."

* * *

_I owe my life to Conrad at least. If it wasn't for him, I'd be dead right now. We were outside this building, minding Valestra's car while he had a 'business meeting', and I notice he's got this flustered face. I ask what's wrong and he tells me that Sal knows about my other jobs. That he isn't happy with me and that he's having me bumped off. This meeting he was in was to approve it. All I could think of was how did he know? I was so sure I had covered my tracks well. Then, it hit me; Conrad had told him. It was true. As Conrad explained, Valestra would've killed his family slowly and make him watch if he hadn't. Even though I was angry, I knew I probably would have done the same thing if it meant saving my wife and kids. I didn't even know the man had any family. Friends for that long and we knew absolutely nothing about our personal lives. The worst bit was finding out that Conrad would be the trigger man. I guess that would be punishment enough for him, at least in the eyes of Salvatore Valestra. Luckily, I was given some time to make up one last job on the other team before I could run from Gotham with my wife and kids. We needed all the cash we could get, what with our third youngster on the way. There would have to be some considerable distance between us and Valestra before his claws could pull us back in. An empire like his spread out far and wide. How I'd break the news to Jeannie, I would never know, but at least we had a chance thanks to Conrad. I will never forget what he did. I hate to admit it, but I might not have been so generous. With one last handshake goodbye, I left Conrad and Valestra behind. All I had to do was warn Jeannie to get out of town and I could meet up with her after that night's heist. Hopefully, everything would be okay. But it had been years since luck was on my side._

* * *

**WEDNESDAY**

Red's office was not the most spacious of planning rooms. Apart from the desk, which they had to move into the centre of the room to lay down all the documents and blueprints, a large wooden cabinet stood against the back wall. Inside its dark shelves were an assortment of random trinkets and personal items that only Red would ever understand their value. What little of his past he told people, there would be parts that remained vague and he never went into great detail about his family in general. These were memories for him only, something everyone could respect. The whole gang was here, hidden within its walls coloured a dark maroon while the floors were even darker. They gathered around the table and poured over all the information that had been given to them, just like every other heist they had pulled. Only this one was different. "You all know how important this job is." Began Red, looking at each of them in turn. "The take has been slow these few months. Let's face it; we've been doing a better job than we thought. To some, this is actually the last jobs you'll be pulling here, so to you I extend my thanks for being here all these years. We've had some tough times to say the least. My friends, thank you." He smiled across the table to all.

"I think...the thing I will miss most," thought Zed out loud, "is drunk Barlow." The rest chuckled while Barlow deadpanned Zed.

"Not funny." He said.

"But you're so extroverted! 'I love you guys! You guys are great, you can do anything! I wanna have your babies!'" Zed mocked, generating more laughs from the others. "I hope the offer is still open for that one." Even Barlow couldn't hold back a smile that he tried to hide.

"Okay! Okay, you've had your fun." Interrupted Red. "We can celebrate _**after**_ the heist. I wanna see drunk Barlow one more time as well."

"I feel like your personal punching bag today." Barlow commented openly.

"Alright. Here's everything as we know it; the Ace Chemicals company has a sizeable staff who receive a Christmas bonus every year around that time. This bonus is double the pay each worker gets, which is already a generous amount. This year, however, the overlords in charge have decreed that this years' Christmas bonuses were to be invested back into the company for debt reasons."

"I'm guessing there's little debt to be paid back." Said Trent.

"None, in fact." Confirmed Red. "Ace Chemicals bought itself out of debt months before Christmas. Now, a few months after Christmas, the workers have not seen a cent."

"I knew it. Let me guess, they're holding it on-site for security purposes." Quizzed Trent.

"Mmm, inside a vault located in one of the main offices." Red pulled out the plans for the safe and rolled them out in front of Zed. "An electronic key coded safe with at least six pins, twelve at the most. Think you can handle it, Mr. Manly?" Zed shot a glare at Hillocks who stopped his sniggering and pretended to be looking away.

"Should be a synch, boss." He answered. "Synch to get rich."

"Okay, so this is how we'll go in." Red pulled out the blueprints of the whole building. "We head in through the side door here and progress section by section. Each door is blocked with a passcode encryption. There's not too much security, so as long as we're through the checkpoints by a certain time, we should be fine. Once we reach the office, we split up; Hammond and Barlow will pair off and create a perimeter to keep watch until Zed opens the safe and deletes all files about Napier from the database."

"Jeez, you really got your work cut out for ya, eh?" whistled Hammond.

"Well, the boss knows I'm a guy who knows how to use my hands." Stretched Zed, attempting to look cool.

"Huh, so _**that's**_ how you got in the gang." Grinned Hammond cheekily.

"Shut up!"

"Hold on!" shouted a man in the hallway outside. Suddenly, Essex burst into the room, huffing as if he'd been running. "How come I'm not allowed to attend these meetings?!"

"But you're non-essential to the plan." Said Hunt.

"So?! You've let the doctor sit in on this one and he's not essential!"

"I think the crazy guy who insulted me has a point." Conceded Hillocks.

"Okay Ess, what's the contribution you would like to make?" asked Red.

"Do you realise what you're sitting on here?" Everyone looked at each other and back, not sure at all what he was talking about. "This chemical plant has all the latest and greatest toxin combinations! If I could get my hands on them...well, it would make me very happy to say the least." He smiled, trying to look his cutest to influence the others.

"Does anyone else not feel comfortable giving monkey-man here deadly chemicals?" queried Barlow.

"That's _**Mr.**_ Monkey-Man to you!"

"Barlow's right. I don't know if I can trust you with stuff that dangerous." Considered Red.

"Humour me." Said Essex, met only with a look from Red which said 'are you kidding me?'. "Fine! Look, I promise not to blow up the building! Is that fine?!"

"If it's any consolation, _**I'll**_ keep an eye on him." Inserted Jack.

"Okay, you got your chemicals." Agreed Red, met with cheers and excited jumps from Essex. "Trent, Hunt, that'll be your job. Secure the chemicals at this storage sector here, just by the main offices. Shouldn't be much of a detour at all." Essex jumped in front of Red and shook his hand.

"Thank you, thank you old friend! You won't regret this!" Essex landed a small kiss on Red's cheek and hurried out of the room, his yelps of happiness still reaching their ears as he walked downstairs.

"Somebody remind me why we have this guy here." Enquired Hillocks, to which he was met with silence.

"Moving on," continued Red, "Webber will be looking after Zed and I'll be in the van. When the objectives have been completed, you will all advance through the warehouse out the back and climb out this fire escape window. That way, if we do get caught, they won't be expecting us to use that route. Then it should be a simple matter of making your way to my position and we drive away, no problems."

"Yeah." Scoffed Hunt silently, but not enough to remain unnoticed.

"What is it now?" asked Red, slightly annoyed. Yet again, Hunt was about to grace the gathering with another complaint.

"Once again, it's us into the firing line while you sit in the stands. When are you going to take part in your own heists?" Hunt leaned in, waiting for an answer.

"Are you a moron or just plain insensitive-My bet is all of the above." Insulted Barlow. "Red _**can't**_ go with us. If he did, then he might be in danger and then who knows where we'd end up if he is captured."

"It might not be so bad."

"Were you brain-dead last year?!" Barlow exclaimed, rounding on Hunt. "He was gone only a few weeks and we were on the verge of collapsing! How's about leaving a chance for us who are staying!"

"Okay." Answered Red.

"Okay what?" Spat Hunt, more interested in fighting with Barlow at this second.

"I'll join you." Everyone's eyes widened. This was new, but not necessarily what they wanted. "This mission is very important, so I'll go in to oversee the whole operation. Is this good enough?" Hunt smirked.

"Yes."

"Good."

"I'll drive the van." Volunteered Jack.

"Then it's all settled. Friday night at eleven p.m., we hit Ace Chemicals and walk away rich." Red picked up his small glass from the table. "Cheers." He gulped down his drink, followed by the rest.

"Well, I guess I'll get back to my surgery room and wait there, being non-essential, for the first casualty to hit the table." Commented Hillocks just as the phone began to ring. Red quickly wheeled around and answered.

"Who is this?" he asked in a hushed voice. "Napier? Where are yo-You don't say! That is some damn, outright splendid timing." He turned to the gang, hand covering the receiver. "He's in hospital."

"Who got to him?" questioned Hunt, standing urgently.

"His wife." Everyone looked a little confused. "She's in labour. Jeez, how thick can you get?" As the men all gave their separate vocal variations of understanding, Jack smiled at the knowledge that he was the only one who actually understood the first time. Red went back to his call. "Yeah, all the boys here send their best wishes. Listen, um...any consideration on our pending arrangement?" The others waited eagerly for his response. "What do you mean you don't know? Surely that's more of a reason to join us now, make sure it all works. Wait-You told her? When?"

"He told who?" But Hunt's query was not directly answered.

"Can you trust her?" continued Red, not listening. "I know she's your wife, but she won't tell anyone, right?" Everyone at this half of the conversation rolled their eyes and growled in frustration. Napier had told his wife about the heist; the worst possible move he could make. "If you can, then I guess so can I. Look, just understand, having a kid on the way is incentive to come with us, not to leave. You have until Friday to make up your mind. And Napier, congrats." Red hung up and put his hands on his hips, biting his lip. He was concerned and troubled. This heist was proving more problematic than the rest, but was still necessary for their continuation.

"Red, we should-" Red decided to stop Hunt right there.

"No. Just...just no." Hunt settled back down, obviously angered over his immediate refusal. "If your plans have anything to do with blood, maiming and killing, as they all usually do, then no. Is it too much to ask that this one, just _**this one**_, goes off without a body being thrown into the channel?" After a while in which Hunt remained silent, Red left the office. Slowly afterwards, the others began filing out, their happiness replaced with despondency. All that remained was Hunt, unmoving. His eyes moved over the office greedily. The old man didn't know what he was talking about. If you expected a heist to be pulled off without death, you were in the wrong game.

* * *

_Probably the most difficult thing I have ever done was keep calm as I entered the apartment. I didn't want to worry the kids, so I had to lie when they asked why I was home early. Jeannie saw right through it, knew from the start that something was up. We snuck away into the kitchen where I explained everything; the jobs, Conrad's confession and how we had to leave as soon as possible. She wasn't too happy, of course, especially when I told her I'd have to pull of one more job before meeting her out of town, but didn't hesitate to agree. As soon as I left, she and the kids would start packing and meet me at Beaufort; the concept of safety there was still present in my mind. I kissed her goodbye and told her 'I love you' before I left. I always had a bad feeling before something big happened. It's natural, but this one felt potent, true to its word. By the time I arrived at the robbery the feeling had only grown into an ache, but it numbed as soon as I realised the gang was not here. Searching around a while, I found their car empty, parked by the sidewalk as per usual. When I looked closer, I noticed tiny holes in the glass which splintered outward from the impact like a spider's web. Bullet holes. Blood was splattered inside, barely pooling. They were either injured and on the run, or dead and moved. I checked the nearby alley where a large dumpster sat. I didn't need an expert to tell me the dark red stains on the lid were wet blood. There was far too much, even for two people to make and I thought it best not to look inside. All thought was washed from my mind as gunshots rang out around me, and I suddenly found myself ducking for cover within their bloody car as Valestra's men tried to kill me._

* * *

**THURSDAY**

Different venue, same company. This time, it was The Boon Docks Bar and Grill that would host this small gathering. Lunch was over, just a couple of drinks between Jack Napier and the two Red Hood Gang members sitting opposite him. The air was a tad more relaxed since they had been chatting about Sandra's pregnancy. She hadn't given birth, wasn't even nearly dilated enough to begin, but the doctors were sure it would happen sometime in the next day or so. Still, there was something that Trent and Hammond wanted the answer to, and only one answer would make them feel better. "So...everything settled for tomorrow? You gonna go through with it?" Trent requested with much restraint. His future outside of the gang meant that this job went smoothly. Unfortunately for him, Napier was obviously still indecisive.

"Well, erm...I'm not sure." He stammered. "The more I think it over, the more I realise that it might be easier to just up and go from Gotham and try to start over somewhere else. Sandra and I have often talked about going to Seattle and try to find a job there. I have family who might give us a place to stay while we get settled."

"Wouldn't it be easier for you to get a little extra cash under your belt? You could jump start that new life of yours." Considered Hammond. "Just imagine the spare change you'll have for all the tough times ahead, and that kid of yours is practically a drain that the money will flow down. You'll need it."

"I also want to be alive for my child's birth." Napier said matter-of-fact-ly.

"And you will, you can trust us." Negotiated Hammond. "We do everything to make sure you get out with exactly what you want."

"And besides, you should be more worried about _**you**_ messing the whole thing up." Inserted Trent to Napier's surprise.

"Me? What did I do?" questioned Napier, taken aback.

"You told your wife about the whole damn thing. That's reason enough to doubt you commitment, if there is any." Trent folded his arms.

"Hey, let me tell you, _**I know my wife**_. Sandra would never say anything to anyone, you have my word."

"Oh yes, and we can trust that word while she's screaming her lungs out during birth or drugged up on pain killers. Who knows what she might belt out at the wrong time." Hammond had to calm Trent down; he was attracting the attention of several of the other patrons.

"Trust me, she's not saying a word." At that moment, two silhouettes appeared through the glass of the front doors. They entered; one was a policeman, the other was Grogan. As soon as they were inside, they walked up to the table, Grogan pretending not to notice Hammond or Trent. Instead, he focused on Napier who was startled to be the centre of attention.

"Excuse me, sir." Grogan began, pulling out his badge. "Could we speak to you _**outside**_ for a moment?" Napier became very flustered.

"_**Me**_? B-but why? I haven't...I-I-I mean, uh-"

"It'll only take a minute, sir." The policeman interjected through Napier's nervous stuttering. He attempted to agree verbally, but realised it couldn't be done so he simply nodded. As he was led to the door, he looked back at Hammond and Trent, pulling a worried face before the glass obscured him. Trent immediately launched into a heated, whispered rant.

"That stupid son of a bitch." He cursed.

"Trent." Warned Hammond.

"Doesn't he understand that _**he's**_ put the whole goddamn thing at risk?!"

"_**Trent**_."

"I've just about had enough of his crap. I have half a mind to persuade him to join us with my fists."

"Trent!" snapped Hammond angrily. "If he doesn't take part, that's his prerogative, but you're being awfully bloody selfish."

"Me?!"

"Yes! You think this is an easy decision for a guy like him? He wants safety and security for his family, and both paths lead to neither in the short-term. He's gotta pick the lesser of two evils and unfortunately, I do not see us winning out." Hammond grabbed his drink and eyed it. "You're not the only one with his future on the line." He drank down the last drop of water. Trent stared at him, curious.

"_**You're**_ not leaving Red, are ya?" he asked but Hammond didn't answer. He didn't even look up. Just then, Napier reappeared by the table, pale as a ghost. He didn't look shocked or sad but...pained.

Before either Trent or Hammond could manage, Napier began weakly; "My wife. She's dead." The gang members exchanged looks. "My wife..." Napier trailed, holding back the tears.

"How?" queried Trent.

"Killed. They don't know who...Oh God, Sandra." Another exchange of glances.

"Jack, do you have any enemies? Has anyone been following you?" interrogated Hammond lightly.

"N-no. Why would you think...?" He was stopped by Trent reaching into his jacket and staying his hand within. "Oh my God. You don't think they're here, do you?"

"Whoever they are, they know you're connected with us." Trent scanned the area in the diner. "You'll be safer with us, but you'll need to be there at the heist."

"I...what?"

"If they want to kill you, then you'll need to disappear. To disappear, you will need money. You still want to live, right?" Posed Trent.

"Y-Yes."

"Then come on." Trent grabbed Napier's collar and roughly escorted him out of the diner. Hammond, while checking for any suspicious characters, dropped some cash on the table and followed them out. Whatever happened today, tomorrow would judge their fate.

* * *

"Come in." called Loeb after three brief knocks on his office door. Inside stepped a man, cold and calculating. He had barely gotten his foot through the door and Loeb has immediately begun to dislike him. "Shut the door." The man complied and sat down in front of the Commissioner's desk. Loeb himself sat down and looked the man over once more. "I know you."

"I'm a friend of a friend." Smirked Hunt, picking up a snow globe. "Now enemy."

"I work for Falcone now." He stated blithely. "Red can't order me and I won't follow his orders if I expect to live."

"You misunderstand." Hunt relinquished the globe. "I'm here...for _**me**_. My own benefit, as well as yours."

"Explain."

"At first, I would have preferred Red over Falcone. Then I realized that I was betting on the wrong horse." Clarified Hunt. "I allowed Falcone a chance to remove Red from the picture, but his little guardian angel stopped him from kicking the bucket."

"Get to the point." Sighed Loeb, not interested in a life story.

"Tomorrow night, there is another chance to remove this nagging pest of a man from our sight."

"You're sure?" asked Loeb, interested.

"I've made sure _**everything**_ plays out the way I want it so far." Assured Hunt. "I've provided opportunity, _**you**_ just need to take it."

"And what, pray, do you want in return?" quizzed Loeb, leaning forward.

"I want Red Hood." Stated Hunt simply. "Imagine all that you and your boss could do with an obedient organisation to do your work. Those little bits of illegal jobs that we can make sure don't lead back to either of you." Loeb considered this, leaning back. If Hunt was right, then this might secure his future in power. All he had to do was make a better job than Falcone could. "What do you say?" With one last thought, Loeb shook hands with the devil on a deal of a lifetime.

* * *

_As the car was pelted with ammunition, I noticed the keys were still in the ignition. I carefully crawled into the driver's seat and started it up, careening down the street and away. It was a few minutes of random twists and turns before I was satisfied they weren't following. All I could think of the whole time was getting back home; if Valestra knew that I had a job that night, then he would definitely know I was planning on turning tail and running away. I was so frustrated that I couldn't get back faster, I felt so helpless that time and space were fighting against me; this physical form was slowing me down. When I arrived and saw the door hanging off its hinges, I knew the worst lay ahead. Immediately inside lay the body of Conrad. Sal must've known he's told me everything and had him brought here to die. I noticed he had been tortured somewhere else, a picture of his family clutched in his cold hand. What must Sal have done to them? That didn't matter to me then. I kept looking through the apartment; the bedroom was empty, so was the kitchen. The last place I checked was the kid's room. I prepared for what was lying beyond, but all the time in the world couldn't have kept me from breaking down in tears. They were all here; strewn amongst the many toys and playthings of their youth, my children. Heather was sprawled out on her bed, supposedly sleeping if it weren't for the stains. The same horrific image on Sullivan's bed with both eyes wide open. Jeannie, too, was lying over Sullivan, almost comforting him before the end. As I approached, I noticed she was still breathing. When she saw me with those life-filled eyes, I could almost hear her inside my head. It only lasted a second or two, the short time we had, and it was over in an instant that lasted forever. I wasn't surprised it took so long for the life to drain from her; she had much of it inside, enough for three. My dreams died along with them; Jeannie, Sullivan, Heather and little Jack, the boy who would never even see the world with his own eyes. At least, he never saw what became of his father..._

* * *

**I hope you have been sufficiently set up for the next chapter; 'The Beginning Of A Fatal Relationship' which shall finish up Gotham's Red Knight. But do not fret, friends. The story shall continue in a third instalment of Joker's Origins.**

**I believe you all know which comic I was talking about with this one? If not, I'll tell you anyway: The Killing Joke by Alan Moore and Brian Bolland. I highly recommend it...and every other Batman comic to you. Read them all, people!**

**I would very much once again love to thank Keywee for allowing the inclusion of her own Joker Origin story, 'The House That Jack Built', within my own. This chapter marks the divergence that separates the two. I did this for two reasons:**

**a) My story required several modifications and will only work if it is changed.**

**And b) Because I don't want to spoil everything in her story! Seriously, go read it. It is fantastic. Plus, she goes into much more depth than there is in Red's flashbacks, so there will be much more waiting for you than I've written.**

**The final chapter will be up soon and this time I will be taking an extended break. If you wish to check out another one of my new Batman stories, just check out my profile page. The story is called 'Batman: Steam-Wise' and is based in a Steampunk version of the Bat-Verse. Thank you all for reading, you are all wonderful people!**


	8. The Beginning Of A Fatal Relationship

Joker

Story Two: Gotham's Red Knight

Chapter Eight: The Beginning Of A Fatal Relationship

**You all have no idea how long I have waited to write this chapter. NO IDEA. This is Ace Chemicals the way it should have been done. Enough said about that. I suspect you came here to read a story. Go ahead and enjoy this final chapter!**

* * *

_I do not generally get angry. I am not a bad person at heart. Many of the things I do help me make a living. It's how I get through life. Society can't argue against that. But, if someone denies me my right to live, then I will make sure it never happens again. That night, I was the maddest man on the face of the Earth, sitting by my family's corpses. It all gave me time to think and evaluate the situation; after all this time, all my suffering and struggling in life, the one moment I had where I could see through the smog of misfortune the chance to breathe in happiness was snatched away by Salvatore Valestra. When you've got nothing in life, it really makes you re-evaluate your whole viewpoint on the world. For example; Sal no longer seemed like my boss, or a mobster, or a powerful individual. He just seemed like a weak man. A large sack of mangled human flesh begging to be ripped apart by the first person who actually understood that behind his title, his possessions and following, he was just as mortal as any of the men I had sent to the bottom of the Gotham River. I felt no remorse in seeking revenge, no regret killing the men he sent after me as they attempted to dispose of me in my own house. Success or failure, it didn't matter. As long as I left my mark and it was clear for anyone to see. This man can be killed. I did wish though, oh so very much, that it would be me who finally pulled the trigger and watched his empire crumble like his body and fall, bloody and disfigured, to the floor. He didn't deserve the nice cool water at the harbour. This was a death I wanted to savour for as long as I could keep him alive. Revenge makes monsters of us all._

* * *

**FRIDAY**

It wasn't too cold a night. Not that it mattered; everyone was wearing their trench coats. The heist of the Ace Chemicals building was only a few minutes from initiating and the whole gang, bar Essex and Hillocks, was gathered out back by a black van. Red handed guns out to each of them, skipping Hunt who already had one. "You expecting company?" asked Jack, sitting in the driver's seat of the van.

"It's my opinion to always expect the unexpected, no matter the odds." Red then passed one along to Jack who took it hesitantly. "You sure you don't wanna join in on this one?"

"Nah. I've opted for boredom and boredom it shall be." Jack smiled to Red who returned it.

"Okay, everyone." He summoned the rest to pay attention. "We've still got a little bit of time before eleven so, smoke 'em if you got 'em." The group split up and sat around, several taking out cigarettes while others just psyched themselves up.

"I didn't know you smoke." Said Trent as Zed lit a roll-up.

"Can't concentrate without one." Zed looked it over, admiring its beauty. "It's like every puff injects me with intelligence, forever rising my I.Q. until, one day, I shall become the smartest human being known to man." He took a very long inhale and blew a smoke ring.

"So...you were a moron when you started." Summarised Trent, receiving the evil eye in return. Then, Hammond walked over, smoking a pipe. Even Trent had to whistle in appreciation of its craftsmanship.

"You classy mother f-"

"Zed!" called Hunt sternly. "Give me a hand reading these blueprints." Zed begrudgingly complied and trudged over to his summoner. Meanwhile, Webber and Barlow sat up on a grassy incline, looking out over the vast chemical factory, sharing a cigarette.

"What'll you do with your share?" asked Barlow, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Hookers." Grinned Webber. They both chuckled a little, Webber choking a little. "Nah. Maybe a car or some kind of holiday. I hear Rhode Island has some great fishing spots, maybe Minnesota. Or go to Miami and check out the fabulous 'beaches'."

"Aww hell, we could all use a holiday."

"Mmm." Agreed Webber. "What about you? Got plans, or just throw it at the first woman you meet on the street corner?" Webber laughed, but Barlow was silent.

"No, I don't think I'll go for that sort of thing." He admitted.

"Why? What's holdin' ya back?"

"I just don't think the missus would approve." Webber stared at Barlow, stunned.

"Jeez, I...I had no idea you were married." He gaped.

"Yep, with kids too. We've been together for well over two decades now; high school sweethearts." Reminisced Barlow.

"You not told anybody?"

"Nope. I keep my worlds separate, stay outta trouble and keep my mouth shut. I don't want to risk one destroying the other," he explained, "because they _**both**_ keep me alive."

"Well, you can tell us." Insisted Webber. "We're your friends."

"As harsh as this may sound; I have every reason not to." Barlow stated outright.

"Name one." Tested Webber. Barlow only had to nod in the direction of the solitary man by the waste canal.

"Jack Napier." Red saw Barlow's little indication of the sorrowful being standing hunched by the running waterway. He looked quite pathetic and, for all intents and purposes, dead. If the man was thin when they first met, then he was skeletal by now. Napier was aware of the world around him as much as an animal looks where a person is pointing. The only thing that captured his attention was the toxic brownish-yellow sludge oozing below him. Somehow, a reflection of him looked back, almost judging the real man and insisting he could do a better job. If you pushed a feather into his back, it would likely push him right in. Probably would have jumped in of his own accord if Red hadn't strolled silently to his side.

"You feeling okay?" asked Red, unable to think of anything better to say. Then again, no one could say anything good after what a man like Jack Napier had been through. The man nodded non-committedly and continued his long stare downward. "Still up for a little larceny?"

"Uh...yes. Yes, of course." Napier was still very distracted. He looked up and down the small path that ran parallel to the waterway. "I just-I was just remembering...I used to walk along here on the way to work. Seemed much nicer back then."

"Everything does when you're with the person you love." Red affirmed. He knew it wasn't the least painful thing to say, but anything else would be a lie. "I know what you're going through."

"You don't." insisted Napier. "No one can."

"My wife died." Admitted Red, silencing Napier. "She and I were young and hasty. I wasn't the world's best husband, but I tried my damn best every day. She was pregnant when..." he paused, deciding this was enough information. He looked Napier right in the eyes. "The pain never dies...but, perhaps, one day...we might. That's all we can hope for...but that doesn't mean we can give up." Red gave Napier a small pat on the back and waited. If the man didn't want to talk anymore, then Red wouldn't push the issue.

"It..." Napier mumbled. "It was just so...pointless."

"Death always is." Commented Red.

"The police said it was random, but the guy knew exactly what he was doing."

"What do you mean?" asked Red, intrigued.

"He attacked Sandra with a blade. The first strike went through the abdomen and into the uterus, like...like he wanted her to feel the baby die." Red was horrified. This person, whoever they were, was psychotic and methodical. "Then he just cut her all over, let her bleed out slowly."

"Why didn't she call for help or signal the nurses?"

"He'd-" It was getting difficult for Napier to picture the images that had been described to him. "He'd cut her vocal chords. Then, to make sure she didn't push the call button, he stabbed her right hand, through and through. The tissue was so damaged; it might as well have been amputated." Napier was becoming emotional, barely keeping himself from crying. "What kind of a sick monster does things like this? What possible justification is there to warrant killing a mother and her unborn child?" Red was frozen, not with fear but with outrage. At the mention of Sandra's last injury, his mind had ticked over and immediately, the answer was clear. He knew exactly who murdered Sandra Napier.

"Excuse me." He muttered, standing and turning away from the chemical river. Slowly, the revulsion rising in his stomach, he marched purposefully towards Hunt who was reading over the blueprints with Zed. With every step, Red recalled every dark day when Hunt would do the most incredibly abhorrent and ignorant acts. How every single time, Red had warned him off but Hunt would go back and do it again and again behind his back. As the memories flooded back, so did the disgust he held for this man. This revolting, sickening, loathsome, nauseating, repugnant antipathy of a man who dared to walk upon this Earth and call himself human. By all accounts, he was not something that could be born as offspring from any willing paternities of any sex, creed or species. His only regret now was that he hadn't put this vile creature out of its blissful pandemonium sooner.

"...so you just hang a right and you should be at the storage labs where they keep their pet chemical agents." Zed indicated on the map with his cigarette. "Hey, Red. Think we all know what we're doing now."

"Fine. Hunt, I want to talk to you." He motioned to the other side of the incline to which Hunt followed him to.

"Yeah? What did you wanna-" Red tackled Hunt into the concrete perimeter wall, slamming him firmly again and again.

"You bastard." Red growled, punching Hunt in the face several times. "You couldn't just satisfy your urge to kill by drinking or punching a pillow or playing video games like everyone else. No, you had to go-" Red pulled out his gun and smacked Hunt with it some more. "-and take two lives simultaneously. I've stood idly by and watched you bring misery to the world. Consider that a mistake I will not be making again." Red kicked Hunt to the ground. Dazed and woozy, Hunt could barely stay on his hands and knees, but Red was by no means done with him. "Get up." He spat, pulling Hunt to his weak knees and leaning him against the wall. "I'm not a fan of killing people, like you," Red aimed his pistol at Hunt's head, "but don't think it'll stop me from enjoying this." Hunt stared into Red's blazing eyes and waited for the end. But it never came. It felt a lifetime, but the gun still hadn't gone off. Red didn't understand; why couldn't he shoot _**this man**_?

"You won't...shoot me." Laughed Hunt through bubbly chokes. "I know you won't. You haven't killed anyone since before the gang existed. Sure, you get Trent and me to do your dirty work, but the taste for death died out long ago. It got bitter. And besides, what are you gonna tell them if you do manage it?"

"The truth."

"Oh, sure. How do you think our inside man's gonna take that news?" Hunt smiled evilly. "You know exactly what he's going to assume. He'll think you ordered me to kill his wife to force him to join us, no matter what you say. Kill me now, and no heist."

"Red!" called Jack from the other side of the hill. "Red, it's time!" The decisions were simple in Red's mind; kill Hunt or kill him later. Just as Jack walked over the hill, Red holstered his gun and turned to him. "It's eleven." Said Jack. He noticed the bloody face of Hunt and the bruises on Red's knuckles.

"I'll be there in a moment." Assured Red sternly. Jack nodded but stood his ground, wanting to make sure nothing else happened here without his knowing. Red turned to Hunt. "We'll pick this up again later." He said before re-joining the gang over the hill. Hunt wiped his lip and straightened himself and his clothes. He walked up the slope towards Jack, spitting blood at his feet before passing by.

* * *

_Disappearing is not difficult. It is staying hidden that takes practice. Luckily for me, I blended into the woodwork. I planned my revenge carefully; watching Valestra's movements with every eye I could spare. A man like him, in the profession he runs, pisses off a lot of people even in his own organisation. Some can deal with a few hard knocks here and there, but others who are dealt with the brunt of his wrath feel they're being abused by power. Now, Valestra wasn't stupid. He too was bunkering down and fortifying his defences any way he could. He just didn't know who the hell to trust. My main inside man at the time was Hammond. He got me all the info I needed, including names of people who might like to bring Salvatore's reign to an end. Along with giving me information, Hammond would suggest men from the outside so that Valestra would hire them on, some of them planted by me. To run his automated security measures was Zed. All I remember of him back then was that he looked too young to be into this kind of thing. Then again, so was I at the time I started out. Zed patched me in to all the cameras around Valestra's compound and gave me access codes for every door. Salvatore's hit-man team held a prominent young street urchin like myself. He was an up-and-coming pet of Valestra's, but also a beating boy. As hard as he tried, Barlow was given a bum rap in every aspect and given very little on the return. When I met up with him, it was obvious how deep in debt he was. He reminded me of...me. On the outside, I found a few useful hands who would all help me when the time came to fight against Valestra's army. One of them used to own a popular nightclub which was burned down by Valestra's men. Webber was only too happy to join me. Everyone was. I had only one condition: Valestra was mine._

* * *

Napier had been right; the whole plant gave off the chill and fear that only claustrophobia could inflict. Though there were only four walls around them, pipes and machinery stuck out, making the corridors and walkways thin. It felt worse than being trapped in a box; caught in a tangle of vines and you can still see freedom but never reach it. For the vastness it portrayed outside, Ace Chemicals felt so small. It didn't help now that Napier had stopped dead in his tracks; at least on the move, they could distract themselves from their surroundings. "C'mon! Quit daydreamin'!" hissed Trent, nudging him in the back.

"I-I-I'm not. It's this damn mask!" Napier tried moving it around fruitlessly. "Everything's in red, I can barely breathe..." he sniffed the air inside the helm. "...and it smells like garlic."

"Hurry up!"  
"Just give me a moment. This place looks different in red." He tried looking around a little harder through the red lenses, a little skewed. It wasn't exactly one-size-fits-all. Even outside they had trouble getting it on. Hammond even pointed out he had a funny shaped head, but they eventually stuck it on. He was just afraid they wouldn't be able to pry it off. "This way." He signalled, recognising the path. They all followed him deeper into the lion's den. The further they went, the more paranoid it made them; the hisses of valves, clicking of dials and bubbling of vials. A moving shadow always turned out to be some kind of machine. It would be difficult to know if anyone were on their way in this place. Finally, at long last, they reached the main offices where they went into phase two.

"Okay, you know your jobs. Hammond, Barlow; perimeter. Trent, Hunt; chemicals. The rest of us will remain here. When we're done, regroup at the waste warehouse. Got it?" Everyone nodded to Red and divided up, all disappearing into the beast's bowels. The Supervisor's office wasn't too crammed, but still quite small. So tiny that the suggestion of a wall safe was moronic. It was quite easy to spot; a large black iron slab in the corner.

"Go do your thing." Hurried Webber as Zed approached the safe.

"My _**thing**_?" Zed raised an eyebrow. "You mean 'safe-cracking'?"

"Well, forgive me for not using the technical term." Retorted Webber. "If it means that much, I can buy ya lunch and we can call it even."

"I like Jambalaya."

"Eugh!" shivered Webber, disgusted. Zed cracked his fingers and scanned a false key card into the safe.

"Y'know, this takes me back." He sighed. "The first time I opened a safe for you guys; eighteen years ago." Red chuckled.

"Oh, yes." He smiled.

"What happened?" asked Napier, interested, sitting down on the desk. The helm was heavy and he was afraid if he didn't sit, then he would fall over and never stand again.

"Sionis Industries. Back then it might have been considered competition for Wayne Enterprises, but times change." Recalled Zed, putting the card into his laptop which began deciphering the code. "Old-man Sionis was stashing away some under the table money from mobs while letting its staff go due to 'budget cuts'. Our inside man gets us the info, we break in, no problem. This was when I was hands-on, no gizmology."

"So much for _**tech**_nical terms." Commented Webber.

"Anyway, it was Red and me who snuck in." continued Zed. "He wanted to make sure I didn't just take the money and run. I'm in the middle of cracking the code when the door opens and in walks Sionis' little boy. We're like; 'Oh shit. How're we gonna get outta this one?' when genius here has the bright idea of bribing the kid." Red was crying and laughing.

"Did it work?" asked Napier.

"Not only did it work," answered Zed as his computer finished decoding the numbers, "but he kept his daddy busy so we could steal the money." He swiped the imprinted card once again and typed in the code. The safe door creaked open and revealed the stacks of bound up money lying inside, waiting to be taken. "It's all about the money."

Hunt and Trent strode through the empty, dark laboratories. Cleaner, wider and ordered was a nice break for them. It helped the grimness of being in this place mixed with the irk-ness they were experiencing at having to get these chemicals melt away. "So, Hunt." Began Trent uneasily. "What're you doing when you get outta here? Leaving Red Hood?"

"Don't sound so eager." Commented Hunt with a half-smile.

"Just askin'. Don't think all of us didn't notice those fresh bruises you got after that little 'meeting' with Red."

"Just a friendly disagreement." Shouldered Hunt, dragging open a heavy sliding door and entering cold storage.

"_**Sure**_." Inflected Trent. "_**Disagreement**_." Hunt gave Trent a sidewards glance.

"No, I'm never leaving. Red Hood for life." He walked up to the first of dozens of cylinder stands, each with caps on top. Hunt pulled out the first lid, drawing up the tiny freezer within. On each shelf that stretched around the cylinder inside sat a vial of various toxins marked with chemical composites. Some of the shelves were empty; Essex wanted one that was full. "Next one." Said Hunt, closing it up.

"You hoping to outlive Red?" questioned Trent a little more forcefully than he meant to let on. To his relief, Hunt sniggered, thinking it a joke.

"Nobody can hope to outlive the other. Not doing what we do." He opened another cylinder, still not full. "It's all just random chance."

"That can't be all."

"No. Sometimes, if you're mindful and just a little lucky, you can alter chance to give you..." Hunt opened a third one but paused eerily, "...the advantage." He looked back at Trent, staring at him with a subtle intensity. Trent was frightened by this unblinking gaze. What was this man thinking of doing? Just as he was about to figure the worst, Hunt smiled devilishly. "This one's full." He said, finally turning away. Trent gave a little sigh and took off his backpack. "What about you?" asked Hunt. "Gonna leave, find an honest job?"

"Not sure." They both unscrewed the heavy container from its perch and lifted it into the bag with great difficulty.

Nothing was amicable, everything was sinister. With every twist and turn, their surroundings became even more foreboding as if the whole building were a hostile entity preparing to attack. Barlow and Hammond had split up to cover more ground and were instantly regretting it. They'd wandered for only a few minutes and already felt completely lost. _"Hey, Barlow." _Buzzed the radio. _"You see anything?"_

"I couldn't spot Bigfoot in here, let alone a cop." Complained Barlow.

"_Yeah, I know." _Hammond agreed. _"It's like a goddamn labyrinth in here. I could swear I've passed this boiler already."_ Barlow changed the channels.

"Jack-ey boy, you see anything?"

"All's quiet." Droned Jack, his feet hanging out the van window. "River's a little noisy though."

"_Well, poor baby. Having to put up with that river must be difficult."_ Expressed Barlow in false sorrow. _"Now excuse me while I don't get killed."_

"Uh...I think you've spoken a little too soon there." Jack pulled his feet back inside and listened.

"_Yeah, right. Nice try."_

"Quiet!" He hissed. Building slowly in the distance, just barely over the trickle of the waterway, the sirens were approaching. As they grew louder, flashing lights appeared far away on the other side of the compound. "Barlow, you guys might have a little company." Barlow suddenly felt a shiver fall down his spine. He quickly changed channels once more.

"Red, you'd better talk to Jack. He says the police are dropping by." Conveyed Barlow quickly. Red looked up from the two large sports bags they were putting the money in. The others had also frozen, wide-eyed and afraid. He grabbed his radio and tuned in to Jack's frequency.

"Jack, are you sure?"

"_Positive."_ Over Jack's words and the working plant around them, the sirens became audible to them also.

"We're almost done in here. Don't come for us; stay in the van. We'll be out in a minute." After another station change, he continued; "You two get back here and tell Trent and Hunt to move their arses too."

"You got it." Agreed Hammond. He tuned in to Trent's radio. "Boys, prepare to leg it, cops are on the way." Hunt and Trent exchanged looks.

"Shit." Cursed Trent. "We should meet up with them." He ran to the door, swinging the pack over his shoulder and peered out.

"Why?" questioned Hunt. "We should just go and stay alive." Trent looked back at Hunt, incredulous and a little angry.

"I hope you _**do**_ leave." Said Trent darkly before leaving Hunt on his own in the cold chamber. Even he knew that what he was doing was shameless. Leaving his people behind to die was not a mark of a leader. As much as he hated to admit it, Hunt knew this was the wrong thing to do. With as much compassion as he could muster, mixed with a little regret, he picked himself up and followed Trent to almost certain death. Maybe he was crazy after all.

* * *

_The day came. So much blood was spilled on all sides. The papers called it 'The Bowery Bloodbath', soon forgotten. I walked into Salvatore Valestra's home, without having even fired a bullet. I was saving them for one man only. Not once did I flinch as I stepped over body after body, friend and foe, faces I knew and others I only now know in death. I felt like I was walking down the road to my salvation. I walked up the stairs of his mansion-like dwelling and mocked the money that had been wasted in its construction. It would never be lived in again. Perhaps by squatters, but no one who could buy it, no one who would appreciate it. I found him sitting in his bathtub, a gun in his hand. There was so much I wanted to say, so much he needed to understand, but no matter what I did now, all my words would fall upon deaf ears. He chose to die a tyrant; strong and powerful with this city in his hand. Perhaps the first casualty of the battle. Leaderless, his men scattered. Some fought unnecessarily while others hid in the corners of Gotham. With his territories up for grabs, Maroni replaced him as the king of The Bowery. When he asked what I wanted in return, I knew that I had to make it count; I didn't want to end my life here. If anything, I wanted it to mean something more than it had before. And so, Red Hood was born. Barlow, Zed, Webber and Hammond joined me, the rest followed along the way. We found Essex in Valestra's interrogation house; it was his job to make his enemies talk or else he died. The man was grateful when we got him out of there. Hillocks came recommended by Hammond, Trent was a former bouncer at Barlow's nightclub and Hunt...He kinda just...blew in from nowhere. I wanted it to be my stand against criminal power, fighting it the only way I knew how. Still haven't talked to Molly, she probably doesn't even know I'm alive. Even now, I still think about Jeannie and the kids. But the one thing I try to keep in mind was the irony behind Valestra's death. He made __**me**__ understand what I had done and who I had become. Revenge had taken me apart and put back only the worst anyone could be. I didn't want to be a bad man, I am not an angry person. After that day, I promised myself I would never kill again. That's a promise I intend to keep until the day I die._

* * *

Bang! Bang! Two shots went off somewhere. It echoed so much that it was impossible to determine where they came from. "I thought you said there was lax security!" barked Webber at Napier, who was becoming very agitated.

"It's not my fault!" he squeaked. "Th-They must've altered things since I left."

"_**Altered**_?!" Webber shouted, rounding on the small man in the helm. "I'll _**alter **_your goddamn face, you arsehole!" Before this could escalate any further, the door opened and two men entered. Everyone drew their guns and aimed at each other before they realised the two others were Trent and Hunt.

"Don't y'all be happy all at once." Scoffed Trent, lowering his gun. The others all put their weapons away. Red eyed Hunt suspiciously.

"Any sign of Hammond or Barlow?" he asked. Hunt shook his head.

"They've not shown. Makes me think those two shots mean its curtains for them." Said Hunt. "In my opinion, we should be moving as well."

"Zed, how much longer until those files are wiped?" Red walked over to Zed who was at the Supervisor's computer, interfacing it with his own.

"I've only just gotten in." he exclaimed through gritted teeth. "Only half of the files are gone. This is gonna take a-" He was tackled to the floor just as the room was torn to shreds by weapons fire. Everyone fell to the ground as bullets and glass hailed all around them. When Zed looked up, he saw a bullet had shot right through the computer monitor, and then through his own laptop. He looked to his side and saw his saviour; Trent, lying motionless, a hold through his skull. Hunt opened the door and shot out at the attacking officers while lying on his side.

"We're trapped in here! Somebody make us a back door!" He shouted. Webber opened fire out one of the windows while Napier cowered behind the safe. Red picked up a chair and threw it out one of the back windows, following it up with the sports bags full of money. He crawled over to Zed who couldn't tear his eyes from Trent's corpse.

"Zed!" Red shook him, gaining his attention. "You go out that window, take those bags and get to the waste warehouse! Get out, you hear me?!" Zed nodded and waited for covering fire before diving out the window, hitting the floor on the other side. He was now back in the manufacturing complex. He may not have liked it, but being here meant that he might lose the fuzz amidst the chaotic mesh of machinery, that is, if he didn't get lost himself.

Back inside the office, the room was being torn apart like paper. As Hunt ran out of ammunition, he paused to reload which is when he saw Trent's body on the ground behind the desk. In his mind, the image changed and was replaced with his own dead form in Trent's place. It became clear that if he stayed to fight, it would cost him his life. "Hunt! I need some cover while I reload!" called Webber but Hunt was unresponsive. "Hunt! Help me!" Webber watched as Hunt gave him one last selfish look, shot out a side window and dove through it, fleeing for his life. "You son of a bit-" Webber had to duck back under the glass as it was shot out by the police. "Shit!" He turned back to Red who was lying by Napier, trying to comfort him. "Red! Get out! Follow Zed and get the hell outta here!"

"What about you?!" Red called back.

"Have a pint ready for me when I get back!" Webber shot out the window, no longer interested in talking anymore. While he held back the police, Red helped Napier through the back window and followed him out.

"Okay, which way?" he asked, checking the coast.

"I think...this way." Napier stammered and they hurried into the abyss.

Zed was scared for his life. Not only didn't he know where he was going, but he was being held down by these damn bags. Keep them or leave them? Either way, it meant his life. All he wanted to do was go home, anywhere was better than here. He almost jumped out of his skin when Hammond and Barlow emerged from the darkness, Barlow with a fresh graze across his cheek. "What happened to you guys?" Zed asked immediately after regaining his breath.

"Met the first wave of cops that came through the door." Said Hammond. "We dashed away as fast as we could hoping to see something familiar, but it's like a maze in here."

"You okay, Barlow?"

"I'll live." Answered Barlow bitterly, touching the flesh.

"Look, do you know where in the hell we are?" Hammond queried grumpily.

"I think our exit is just a little further down here, but don't quote me." Zed pointed down the path he had been following. It probably wasn't right, but it hadn't killed him so far.

"Good, let's get mo-" Another gunshot rang out and Hammond clutched his neck as he collapsed. Barlow dispatched the officer and knelt down by Hammond's side.

"He's been hit in the throat." Barlow took Hammond's hands and forced them into his wound, trying to keep the blood from pooling everywhere. "We need to get back to the van." He picked up Hammond and slung him over his shoulders, struggling under the weight just to stand on his feet.

"But...what about the money? I need help!" demanded Zed.

"Drop one!" ordered Barlow. "They're not worth your life, now come on!" Begrudgingly, Zed let one of the bags fall from his shoulder and hurried after Barlow, their trail marked by blood droplets.

Hunt was flying down passage after passage with no idea where he was heading. From the corner of his eye, he spotted several policemen searching through the plant. He came to a stop, hiding behind several pipes. They were headed his way and he couldn't take them all at once. Just then, he heard a noise above on the upper floor. Hunt saw, to his good fortune, Red and Napier creeping through the complex. This was the lucky break he needed to escape. "Hey!" he called out, grabbing the attention of the police and his fellow gang members. "There he is, up there! The Red Hood! The leader!" Red scowled down at Hunt, seething from within but had no time to have an outburst as the policemen fired at him. He quickly pushed Napier to move on and they hurried out of the line of fire. The cops near Hunt hurried after them.

"Murph! Get some boys over to the rear bays! We got Red Hood over here!" ordered one of the officers into his walkie talkie as they ascended the metal stairs in pursuit of Red. From the shadows emerged Hunt, happy in his good fortune. As he decided to carry on, he spied someone he was happy to see. Lieutenant Aaron Eckhardt had another motive to be here; income. Red was his best employer; at least he saw the value in having him around. The other mobsters would not be so considerate towards his application. There were other stronger, brighter and better cops who would be dying to have a take, but Eckhardt wasn't going to miss out on his share. This is why his intent was to help Red escape.

"Eckhardt!" whispered an urgent voice from nearby.

"Red?" said Eckhardt into the darkness. "Is that you? I'll get you outta here." He just couldn't see anything; it was so dark that he could barely see his hand in front of his face.

"Eckhardt." Beckoned the voice strangely. It sounded more gleeful than frightened. Still, Eckhardt shuffled forward, trying to find out the voice's origins. He patted his pockets and found a packet of matches. He scratched one against his scruffy cheek and held it before him. Suddenly, it was blown out and he felt a cold metal barrel press into his temple. "My _**saviour**_." Spat Hunt, hocking on Eckhardt's shoes. "Nice night for a walk?"

"Hunt?"

"All those times that you came in with 'useful' information and I couldn't help thinking...how could Red trust such a fat, miserable sod like you?" whispered Hunt offensively. "A sack of crap that can barely look down to tie his shoes. Why get him to do work?"

"Hunt..." stammered Eckhardt.

"Why _**you**_, when _**I**_ could do so much better." With what needed to be said over and done, Hunt pulled the trigger and continued the way the Lieutenant had come, straight out of Ace Chemicals.

They had lost the police, but it appeared that Red and Napier had also lost their way. With every decision, it felt like they were heading further away from freedom. The stomping of boot against grille unsettled them, made them panic. The police, as well as the walls, were closing in around them with no end in sight. "How much further?" Red panted on the heels of Napier who was in a state of distress.

"I...I don't know! This mask...!" He exclaimed, giving in to his fearful impulses. Pathetically, he clawed and tugged at the helm, making animalistic noises with every attempt.

"Calm down!" hissed Red but it was no use. Napier had lost his nerve. He was like a caged monster being cornered by the hunters. The shrieks and growls grew louder and more desperate, bound to be overheard by their pursuers. As he pulled and twisted, it seemed more likely the thrashing would kill him before anyone else could.

"Get it off! Get it-" With one final almighty haul, Napier wrenched the hood from his head and held it high in the air, victorious over his struggle. In only a moment, his relief turned to sorrow as he saw three policemen take aim and fire, blasting his head apart. Red watched as Napier's body stumbled back, his arms throwing the helm aside, and fell into a stack of barrels. The police, in their own hysterical state, continued firing as the barrels collapsed around him, believing every sound to be another gangster. Red spied on one of the barrels several markings under the words 'Caution: Flammable' written on its surface. Realising this, he ran as several impacting barrels cracked and spewed their combustible fluids from within. Just moments after he had taken cover, the sparks ignited and exploded outwards in a massive fireball. The policemen were thrown back, while others who were caught in the blast, staggered and panicked as their bodies were engulfed in flame. When he was sure he was in the clear, Red peered over his cover. The whole section was ablaze; the fire was spreading quickly with smaller ones cropping up everywhere. It was clear that he wouldn't stand a chance down here. That his only hope of escape was up on the catwalks above where he might find an escape route. He placed the red hood over his head, hoping it would provide some protection from the smoke, and dashed up the nearest staircase while the distracted officers fought off the inferno.

"Gagh!" choked Hammond, unable to take a proper breath bouncing on Barlow's shoulders. He spluttered and spewed blood from his mouth that trickled onto the floor.

"Come on, old man." Barlow grunted. "We're almost there." He and Zed hurried through the waste warehouse as fast as they could, passing shelves and shelves of containers filled with toxic waste. As they scampered further inside, several barrels were stacked on the floor, no room for them to fit with the others. Luckily for these three, there was no sign of the cops.

"It should just be up here." Zed pointed to the stairwell that lead up to a second level. "The fire escape should be just outside a window on our right." Clang! The side door to the warehouse opened and in from the manufacturing complex entered several officers, their torches scanning the warehouse.

"Quick!" hissed Barlow, treading as quickly and lightly as possible up the stairs after Zed, narrowly avoiding a beam of light.

"This is it." Whispered Zed, opening the first window they reached. He climbed out first, throwing the sports bag onto the dirt ground and standing precariously on the fire escape. "I don't think it's been used in years." He commented to Barlow. They could hear the footsteps coming closer.

"One at a time." Said Barlow, preparing Hammond for the climb. Zed tried to lower the ladder, but it let out one loud squeal. The footsteps stopped momentarily and then continued, their torch light visible downstairs. "Hurry!" Hassled Barlow. Zed looked down directly under the grate and saw a shelter that peeked out of the wall. He scrambled over the rail and dangled above the shelter. Once he was satisfied he would make it, he let go and landed on its surface, climbing the rest of the way down.

"Go!" he called up quietly. Barlow rolled Hammond out onto the fire escape and climbed out afterwards, closing the window behind him. The landing wobbled dangerously but Barlow didn't have time to hesitate. He picked up Hammond once more and held him over the edge, swinging him onto the shelter roof. Barlow then swung himself down, quickly carrying Hammond in his arms before he slid off the roof.

"Right," he began to explain to Zed, "I'm gonna need you to..." Suddenly, the shelter lurched severely, swaying down on its side and tipping Barlow from his balance. He landed with a crack on the ground, Hammond still in his arms, and fell on his back. He moaned in great pain as Zed hurried closer.

"What's wrong?" He panted.

"My leg." Struggled Barlow between breaths. "It's broken."

"Stay calm, I'm gonna help you."

"No. Get Hammond to the van. You can only take one." Insisted Barlow, hyperventilating.

"I'm not leaving you behind!"

"No, just-" Barlow suddenly whipped out his gun and pointed it at the figure that had just appeared behind Zed. They both let out a sigh of relief when they saw it was Jack. "Thank God it's you."

"Let me help you, there." Jack grabbed one of Hammond's arms while Zed grabbed the other. "One. Two. Three." They hauled Hammond up, slinging his arms over their shoulders and began carrying him away. "Need any help, Barlow?"

"I'm fine, now he's off me. I can make it." Barlow limped after them, his leg bent at a weird angle.

"Where are the others?" asked Jack.

"We all got split up." Answered Zed.

"What about Red?"

"Can only hope he's doing better than us."

High above the smoke, a red figure ran down the catwalks, narrowly avoiding the watchful eyes of the police officers patrolling and searching for this elusive figure. Red could no longer tell which direction he was going; he was lost in an intricate catacomb of unimaginable design. The walls seemed to change, and a path that appeared open turned out to be a herring; closing itself off at the wrong moment. When he discovered his location to be the processing plant, Red was certain that there was no way out. Instead of heading to the rear, he had somehow made his way east and buried himself deeper into the compound. What frightened him the most wasn't his sense of loneliness, but that the gunfire had ceased. Where he had come from, there had been noise everywhere. In here, it was all just too quiet. "Can anybody hear me?" he whispered into his radio, only picking up static. There was too much electrical interference being generated in here. Despite his obvious isolation, Red couldn't help but feel eyes staring at him. He whirled around at the tiniest of clatters, unable to see anything in the shroud of darkness. Suddenly, from the rafters above, he saw them; two shining slits peering out from the shadows. It scared him so much, that he ran. By the time he looked back, they were gone, stalking him, getting closer. From nowhere, several cops gave chase after him, firing dangerously in his direction.

"He's taking off across the catwalk!" shouted one of the cops.

"I got a clean shot at..." but the second officer couldn't finish and neither of the others could react to the tall, black figure above them. "Oh my God. It's him." By the time the creature disappeared, they had lost sight of the Red Hood and began searching once more. Red checked behind him, wondering why the police weren't right on his tail like they had been only moments ago. Not squandering his luck, Red ducked into a control room of sorts, finding no means of escape. As he walked out, he spied further down an adjoining walkway was an exit. But as he made his way closer, a silhouette of what was obviously the police appeared. Red tried to back track but froze, terrified at the presence lurking in the shadows on the path he had just trod. It was there; hidden but felt physically throughout his body.

"Dear God," deliberated Red in terror-filled disbelief, "what have you sent to punish me?" The manifestation stepped into the light, revealing its demonic form. It was by no means supernatural, but created the fear it needed. The creature advanced forward, causing Red to step backwards. "Don't come any closer." Warned Red, feeling greatly threatened by its willing appearance but it ignored the caution. It took a swing at Red who only just managed to duck, only to have a second punch hit him square in the gut, knocking him to the floor. He quickly stood, still backing away, and avoided the heavy blows that were sent his way. Finally, Red kicked it back, trying his luck with a random flurry of attacks. He didn't see the left hook that left him dazed and only became aware of the world once more as he found himself tumbling over the catwalks' railing. As he fell, a hand clamped tightly around his ankle. Hanging upside down, Red looked up at the bubbling chemicals beneath. He turned back to the bat, its claw-like grip slowly coming undone. With one last pleading look, the black figure relinquished its hand and Red watched, helpless as he dropped into the waste below. Red felt himself being sucked into a large tube which ejected him into a basin where the chemicals swept him towards a disposal tunnel. The officers who had witnessed the whole ordeal opened fire at the Red Hood, several bullets hitting their mark, but only enough to wound. They continued their barrage until Red had been carried out of sight. Batman watched, wise enough to know he couldn't follow Red Hood down. He brought himself back to full height and began to make good his escape when-

"Bastard!" Webber tackled Batman, only to have his own force used against him. He was lifted over Batman's head and tossed aside, but Webber wasn't done. He attacked, every punch blocked and retaliated. This seemed an impossible battle to win like this, so Webber tried a kick. Batman held it steady and swung Webber around, throwing him through the control room window. As he fell through the glass, his body crashed into one of the levers, knocking it down and a warning signal flashed; 'Turbines Active'. Batman was about to collect Webber's barely moving form, but the police spotted the creature first; firing wildly at him. Batman fled, disappearing from sight. Webber, semi-conscious, knew that he had to escape. He could barely even walk out of the control room, bleeding from glassed cuts, but the police were not so generous. They shot him, believing for a moment that he was Batman and watched on as Webber swayed and toppled into a vat of acid where his body disintegrated into nothing.

Pain. All over, pain. Red was blind, deaf and in complete agony. The chemicals stung his body and eyes as he floundered uselessly down the long, dark tunnel. He had figured it would lead back to the river by the van, but that thought was long gone, squeezed out by the unbearable torture. Did he deserve this for everything he'd done in his life? Was this some kind of destiny that his existence was meant to fulfil? It didn't matter now; he just wanted it all to end. The eternal suffering had gone on long enough. Luckily for Red, fate was merciful. Although he didn't see it until the very last second, when he managed to glimpse the spinning blades chopping the water ahead through the wet lenses, he was almost glad that his ordeal would be over very soon.

At long last, they reached the van and Jack and Zed heaved Hammond inside, laying him down on the car floor. "We're here, buddy." Reassured Zed, grabbing a first aid kit. "We'll get you back to Hillocks and he can patch you up good. Don't worry. Just don't-don't worry." He was becoming more and more hysterical, so Barlow stood in, grabbing several bandages and pressing them into Hammond's lacerated neck.

"Stay with me." Barlow ordered into Hammond's fading eyes. His chokes were lessening. "I said stay with me, old man. You're not done yet." With all his strength, Hammond reached out and grabbed Barlow's collar. Slowly, he nodded, layed back, loosening his grip. His hand fell to his side and all was still. Barlow lowered his head, closing Hammond's vacant eyes.

"No." squeaked Zed, sobbing. He sat beside his fallen comrade, crying, his head in his hands. They took a moment for their friend in silence.

"We have to go." Said Barlow solemnly. "Leave his body behind." Zed was already too shocked to argue. He couldn't even manage to think about seeing the logic behind that command, but he carried it out anyway. "Jack!" called Barlow. He saw Jack standing by the muddy bank of the waste waterway, staring at the tunnel the brownish-yellow chemicals flowed out of. "Jack, we have to go!" But Jack wasn't listening. He was squinting through the half-light at the sludge. Suddenly, his eyes spotted something in the pooling waste, glinting in the dark.

"Wait!" he shouted back, moving a little closer to the water's edge. He couldn't make it out at first, but as it came closer it all became clear. Bobbing along on the surface, straight towards Jack was a red helm, drenched and all alone without an owner. When it hit the bank, Jack picked it up, noticing the large scratches on its shell. When he looked inside, a curious wave struck and a strange sensation overcame him.

"Jack!" interrupted Barlow. Jack placed the helm back on top and carried it back to the van, setting it on his lap as he started the engine. "What's that?" enquired Barlow, but Jack simply ignored him and began driving away. From atop the grassy knoll, Hunt walked out, watching the van drive off into the distance. How had they managed to survive? He had given Loeb all the information needed and the police were only now making their way down the river to where their meeting spot used to be. If he returned to The Stacked Deck now, then his betrayal would be immediately realised. All this meant was that he now had to bide his time. Soon enough, Red Hood would be his. Soon enough.

* * *

Jack strode through the front door of The Stacked Deck with an air of accomplishment. He walked past Hillocks and Essex and up the stairs to the second floor. Finally, he entered Red's office and stood behind Red's desk. He looked at the many possessions that had belonged to his mentor and regarded them with a pleasantness he could not express verbally. Inside his mind, the cogs were turning and new ideas formulated themselves within. When he heard Barlow walk in and turn, the first thing his friend noticed was the fanatic twinkle in Jack's eyes. "What do we do now...boss?" He asked, holding down the pain after having walked upstairs on a broken leg. Jack smiled airily, tossing the hood in his hands.

"Regroup." He answered. "Re-form." He seconded. "Re-analyse."

"Very good." Barlow looked at Jack, unsure of what to say next. "I'm sorry about Red."

"He will be missed." Said Jack, taking a closer view of the hood. Barlow noticed that there was something inside.

"What is that?" he asked a second time. Jack placed the red hood down on the corner of the table and grinned.

"The new face of our empire." Jack lifted the helm and revealed what lay beneath. Disfigured, deformed, chalk-white skin, messy green hair and large red lips made the face of Red appear nightmarish. Even Barlow was startled by Jack's comfort in having his father-figure's head mutilated and sitting on his desk. His mangled expression was difficult to read, being dead, but beyond the scars and trauma, Barlow could almost swear that those ruby red lips were curled into a mangled, hauntingly wide smile.

* * *

_I've told you all I can. That's about the end of my story, you know the rest. Can't say it's a happy ending, but what is happy is not necessarily what is right. What my life has shown me is that wanting personal justice is not going to get you anywhere. It'll make you a monster. You have to learn to adapt to your situation and improvise. We live in a world where our plans can go horribly wrong; sometimes it is best to fly by the seat of our pants. Patience is a virtue and hot-headedness will get you killed. I'm not trying to prepare you for the future, you have your own life to live and are capable of making your own decisions in life, but I'm just trying to tell you what I have come to understand. The people in this world are not just straight up good or evil. There is no black and white. Death is not something to seek vengeance over; it is an opportunity to grow. I don't expect people to mourn my death and, frankly, I don't want them to. Under the circumstances, indiscriminate retribution in my name is something I abhor the thought of. Revenge makes monsters of us all, but someone without a motive is capable of so much more. Perhaps, if you even find what you do to be fun, you won't need one. Goodnight, Jack._

"Goodnight...dad."

* * *

**First things first; thank you all for reading. Thanks especially to my three avid reviewers; **_**Keywee**_**, **_**MintierBadger**_** (you two have been there from the very beginning) and recent addition **_**Jenicide24**_**, along with followers **_**Gideon Moriattis **_**and **_**lolmak**_**. I am honoured you have taken the time to read my stories. You are all the reason why I continue to write them. Everyone, thank you.**

**Secondly; as you may have guessed, this is NOT the end. As with before, the next chapter will be part of a whole new story, so keep in touch to see when it is up (or do a notification thing or something). I do not know when I will begin work on it, but I already know that I will get pestered to start soon by a couple of people. All I can say is that it is called 'The Crowned Prince Of Crime'.**

**Finally, I would like to add that this chapter was my absolute pleasure to write. I am very proud of it, having finally, after all this time, actually been able to plan it out and show it to you all. I am so happy you enjoyed it. Thank you. **

**Well, I guess I'll see you again some other time. See you around...**


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